/ 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS, 

AND 

gates*  Memintscences; 

OR 

ETCHINGS  Or  IIPB  AND  CHAR  ACTED, 

AS  PERFORMED  AT  THE  LONDON  THEATRES  BY 
THOSE  INIMITABLE  PERFORMERS. 

CONTAINING, 

TWELVE  NEW  COMIC  SONGS, 

ANECDOTES  AND  ECCENTRICITIES, 

OF  THE  MOST  POPULAR  ODDI¬ 
TIES  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN. 

EMBELLISHED  WITH  AN 
Elegant  Coloured  Engraving  of  each  Character . 


NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  E.  M.  MURDEN, 
No.  4  Chambers-street 

J.  Finch,  Printer,  70  Bowery, 


1826* 


4 


£c27 

M  A  dL  /r>v 

MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


PART  I. 


“  There  are  various  reasons  for  giving  invitations : 
some  issue  invitations  to  gratify  their  vanity  ;  some  to 
display  their  wealth  ;  some  to  expose  their  folly  ;  and 
others,  not  to  pay  you  a  compliment,  but  to  place  you 
under  a  compliment  to  them.  But  of  all  invitations, 
give  me  a  plain  three-cornered  card,  that  says, « Come, 
and  enjoy  a  dinner  with  a  particular  friend.* 

“  Since  I  have  named  my  particular  friends,  I  dare 
say  there  are  some  of  them  here,  and  they  have  often 
enjoyed  the  opportunity  of  laughing  at  me ;  so,  in  the 
absence  of  something  new,  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
introducing  to  your  notice  a  few  of  my  old  particulars, 
that  you  in  turn  may  have  an  opportunity  of  laughing 
at  them. 

“  Among  the  first  I  shall  usher  before  you  a  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Fingerfit.  He  was  a  retired  sheriffs  officer,  and 
his  wife  possessed  all  the  high  notions  so  familiarly 
adapted  to  her  elevated  situation.  One  day  he  received 
an  invitation-card  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  room,  which 
ran  thus  : — ‘The  honour  of  your  company  is  requested 
to  dine. — R.  S.  V.  P.’  Imagine  Fingerfit  putting  his 
spectacles  on,  and  perusing  the  card  over  and  over 
again  :  ‘  Honour— requested — dine — R.  S.  V.  P. 
(imitating  Fingerfit.)  What  can  that  mean  ?  I  never 
met  with  such  a  thing  before— R.  S.  V.  P.  I  must  call 
my  wife. — Clotilda,  my  dear! — She,  perhaps,  may 
find  out  the  riddle. — Mrs.  Fingerfit! — Clotilda,  my 
dear ! — Mrs.  Fingerfit,  I  say  ! — R.  S.  V.  P. ! — It  is 
high  German  to  me. — Mrs.  Fingerfit ! — Clotilda,  my 
dear ! — Mrs.  Fingerfit !’  ” — 


4 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


Mrs.  Fingerfit.  Did  you  call,  dear  ? 

Mr.  Fingerfit.  I  did. — Look  at  that  card  ;  do  you 
know  the  meaning  of  it,  Clotilda,  dear? 

Mrs.  F.  Yes,  it’s  an  invitation  to  dinner,  love. 

Fing.  I  know  that;  but  what  can  be  the  meaning 
of  R.  S.  V.  P.,  Clotilda,  dear  ? 

Mrs.  F.  I  don’t  think  I  can  make  it  all  out ;  but  I 
imagine  I  can  make  out  the  R.  S. 

Fing.  Well,  the  R.  S.,  that  is  half  of  it.  What 
is  R.  S.  ? 

Mrs .  F  Why,  R.  S.  stands  for  Russel  Square. 

Fing.  It  can’t  be  Russel  Square,  for  the  party 
don’t  live  there. 

Mrs.  F.  That’s  true.  Suppose  we  ask  John,  our  ser¬ 
vant  ;  he  was  footman  to  the  Lady  Mayoress,  and  you 
may  rpst  assured  he  knows  all  about  it. 

Fing.  No,  no,  I  don’t  like  it ;  it  is  very  bad  to  ex¬ 
pose  ourselves  to  the  servants ;  so  we  had  better  put 
our  heads  together,  and  perhaps  we  may  discover  it. 

Mrs.  F.  O!  patience,  patience,  my  dear,  will  do 
wonders ! 

Fing,  “  Honour  of  your  company  requested  to  din¬ 
ner — R.  S.  V  P.”  I  was  never  so  bothered  before  in 
all  my  life.  Look  at  it  again,  my  love  ;  look  at  it, 
Clotilda,  dear. 

Mrs.  F.  “  Honour — to  dinner — R.  S.  V.  P.”  I’ve 
found  it  out — I’ve  found  it  out ! 

Fing.  What  is  it,  chuck  ? 

Mrs.  F.  Why,  it  is  remember  six,  very  punctual. 

There  is  a  certain  class  of  old  ladies  who  pride 
themselves  upon  their  early  knowledge  of  you,  who 
say  they  knew  you  before  you  sat  in  your  mamma’s  lap, 
or  before  you  got  into  your  little  trousers ;  perhaps 
there  are  some  here  who  know  elderly  ladies  of  that 
description.  Yes ;  now  I  am  assured  of  it.  I  had  a 
friend  of  that  description  myself,  a  Mrs.  W.  Worrit, — 
nay,  she  was  an  attached  friend,  and  always  met  me 
with  an  invitation  (imitating  Mrs.  Worrit,)—  “  Ah, 
my  dear  Mr.  Mathews,  I  have  known  you  a  long 
time;  you  were  a  beautiful  infant.  Why  don’t  you 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


5 


come  and  dine  with  me  ?  I  went  with  you  the  first 
time  you  had  your  hair  cut;  why  don’t  you  come  and 
dine  ?  I  knew  you  before  you  went  to  school, — you 
should  come  and  dine  ;  I  am  your  friend, — I  was  al¬ 
ways  attached  to  you,  I  shall  always  he  attached  to 
you, — but  will  you  come  and  dine  ?”  This  lady,  who 
was  determined  not  only  to  continue  her  attachment, 
but  to  patronise  me  under  any  circumstances,  was  so 
pressing  in  her  invitations,  that  at  length  I  determined 
not  to  resist  them,  and  absolutely  made  up  my  mind 
to  dine  with  her.  I  went,  according  to  appointment, 
where  I  found  my  attached  friend,  Mrs.  Worrit,  and  a 
formal  party.  I  was  introduced  (imitation.) — “Mr. 
Mathews:  I  have  known  him  ever  since  he  was  a 
child,  but  he  never  would  come  and  dine.  I  have 
known  every  action  of  his  life,  but  he  would’nt  come 
and  dine.”  When  dinner  was  served  up,  at  every  slice 
she  carved,  her  exclamations  were-**"  How  much  he’s 
altered  since  he  was  a  boy  ! — you  must  come  and  dine 
again  ! — 1  went  with  him  when  he  was  innoculated  for 
the  small  pox, — you  must  come  and  dine  again !” 
When  the  cloth  was  removed,  l  sat  for  a  considerable 
time,  and  was  amused  with  Mrs.  Worrit’s  ob¬ 
servations  respecting  my  little  foibles,  tricks,  and  in¬ 
fantine  eccentricities,  till  at  length  I  saw  a  little  dumb- 
show  between  the  amiable  Mrs.  W.  and  her  friends, 
something  like  this  : — 

(Imitating.)  Mrs.  W.,  you  (nudg-']  Imitating 
ing  her  friends.)  their  anxiety 

Friends .  No;  You  (nudging  to  ask  a  par - 
Mrs.  W.)  ticular  fa - 

Mrs .  JV.  No ;  I  say  you.  vour. 

Friends .  I  can’t,  pon  honour !  J 

At  which,  Mrs.  Woirit’s  grand-daughter,  an  in¬ 
quisitive  little  girl,  who  appeared  to  know  for  what 
purpose  I  was  invited,  came  up  to  me  with  the  corner 
of  her  frock  in  her  mouth,  and  said, — u  Mr.  Ma¬ 
thews,  grand-mamma’s  compliments,  and  she  wants 
you  to  make  yourself  funny.”  This  was  what  I  term  a 
verbal  invitation ;  but  there  are  various  ways  of  de* 
A  2 


6 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


livering  such  matters,  and  I  have  received  them  from 
the  city  ticket-porter,  the  upright  running  footman, 
with  a  stick  as  long  as  the  monument,  and  a  three- 
cornered  cocked  hat, .like  a  turnstile,  that  you  can 
push  from  one  side  to  the  other,  to  that  mart  for  alt 
invitations,  the  Two-penny  Post,  which  supplies  this 
great  metropolis  and  its  suburbs  with  subjects  from 
every  hand. 

Song. — TWO  PENNY  POST. 

Air — “  When  I  was  a  Yonker  and  lived  with  my  Dad?' 

In  the  two-penny  post  you  each  object  may  view  ; 
It’s  the  mart  for  love,  honour,  and  business,  too : 
With  greetings  you’re  cheer’d  and  with  compli¬ 
ments  fed, 

A  man  can  tell  scarcely  what  to  do. 

There  is  dine, 

Wine, 

Desert,  with  claret,— 

And  hock  ; 

With  five — strive, 

Don’t  you  be  later 
By  clock* 

They’ll  hustle 
And  bustle, 

The  folks  in  a  host, — 

The  rattling 
Prattling 
Two-penny  post. 

There  are  some  they  invite  you  to  come  to  tea  ; 
Some  to  take  a  dance,— some  to  join  in  a  glee ; 

Some  writing  to  borrow,  and  others  to  lend, — 

And  a  foe  very  often  will  write  as  a  friend. 

With  cant, 

Rant, 

Cheating, 

Beating — 

The  fools, 

And  making  the  letters  convenient  tools ; 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


They  hustle 
And  bysile, 

The  folks  in  a  host,— 

The  rattling 
Prattling, 

Two-penny  post. 

Some  write  to  friends  that — they’ll  mend  their  lives; 
Then  some  write  for  husbands  and  some  write 
for  wives  ; 

Some  of  children  just  born,  and  of  old  folks  just  dead  ; 
And  when  all  are  issued — they’re  done,  ’tis  said. 

With  pray, 

Pay 

Two-pence, 

Three-pence, 

Or  more, 

I’ve  brought  many  letters  to  you  before, 

They  hustle, 

And  bustle, 

The  folks  in  a  host, 

This  rattling 
Prattling 
Two-penny  pest. 

Now  I  have  been  supplied  with  all  my  invitations 
for  a  week  (pulling  out  cards.)  Here  are  cards  for 
Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday, 
and  Saturday  ;  but  Monday  being  the  first  day,  I 
shall  begin  there. 

Has  any  person  here  ever  risen  from  a  bed  on  a 
Monday  morning  with  a  ghost  of  a  tune  in  his  head. 
I  have, — something  of  this  sort  (hums  chorus  from 
Der  Freischutz.)  Having  received  an  invitation  to 
breakfast  with  my  friend  Mr.  Shakely,  I  prepared  to 
shave  myself,  with  ri  tol  lol,  he.  (hums  tune.)  I’ve 
cut  myself — ri  tol,  he.  (hums  tune.)  Pull  out  my 
/handkerchief  to  stop  the  bleeding,  with  ri  tol,  &c. 
(humming.)  Got  dressed  and  left  my  home  for  that 
of  my  friend ;  when  I  got  to  the  door,  I  knocked 
(knocking,)  ri  tol,  he.  fee.  ( humming  tune.)  Now, 


3 


MATHEWS*  INVITATIONS. 


it  may  be  necessary  to  remark,  that  my  friend  Shake- 
iy,  a  complete  valetudinarian,  had  a  servant  he  called 
Master  Peter,  but  I  called  Peter  Master.  This  was  a 
singular  character,  one  who  never  answered  a  single 
question  you  put  to  him  in  a  direct  manner. — But  the 
door  is  now  open,  so  I  will  introduce  myself  to  Mas¬ 
ter  Peter,  and  you  to  Peter  Master. 

Mr .  Mathews .  How  do  you  do  this  morning, 
Peter? 

Pet .  You  are  looking  charmingly,  Mr.  Mathews. 

Mr .  M.  Is  Mr.  Shakely  at  home  ? 

Pet.  He’s  been  dying  to  see  you,  sir. 

Mr.  M.  Is  Mr.  Shakely  at  home  ? 

Pet.  He’ll  be  quite  happy  to  see  you. 

Mr.  M.  Is  he  up  yet  ? 

Pet.  Up, — yes;  he's  upstairs  abed. 

I  was  ushered  into  the  house,  and  found  every  inch 
of  the  floor  carpeted,  the  crevices  of  the  doors  made 
air  proof,  and  there  was  not  a  window  in  it  that  looked 
as  if  it  was  ever  intended  to  be  opened  again.  At 
length  Mr.  Shakely  made  his  appearance,  and  with¬ 
out  noticing  me,  said, — “Peter,  there’s  a  draught 
comes  from  that  door.” 

Pet.  Here’s  Mr.  Mathews  come  to  see  you. 

Shake.  I  hope  you  are  well,  Mr.  Mathews. 
There’s  a  draught  from  that  door,  Peter. 

Pet.  Dont’ee  be  foolish — I  tell’ee  there’s  no 
draught. 

Shake.  I  must  be  shaved,  Peter.  Now,  mind  what 
your’e  doing  with  that  razor ;  you  make  me  quite 
nervous. 

Pet.  Be  still,  or  I  won’t  lather  thee. 

Shake.  You  come  so  close  you  make  me  quite 
feverish. 

Pet .  Be  quiet,  I  tell’ee,  or  I  won’t  shave’ee 

Shake .  That  Peter  will  be  impertinent  by  and  by. 

It  appeared,  indeed,  that  Peter  had  every  thing  his 
own  way,  which  may  be  clearly  exemplified  by  the 
following  short  conversation.  Shakely  commences — * 

Shake .  Mr.  Mathews,  I  had  such  a  horrid  dream 


MATHEWS*  INVITATIONS. 


9 


last  night.  I  dreamt  that  the  whole  house  fell  down, 
and  the  gable  end  precipitated  itself  across  my  chest. 

Pet .  That  all  comes  o’  your  eating  hot  suppers. 

Shake.  After  which  a  chimney-pot  fell,  and  alight¬ 
ed  right  on  the  bridge  of  my  nose. 

Pet.  That’s  all  owing  to  eating  toasted  cheese. 

(A  knock.) 

Shake.  There’s  a  knocking  at  the  door.  Peter,  go 
and  see  who  it  is. 

Pet.  There’s  no  hurry — they’ve  only  knocked 
once. 

Thus  we  got  rid  of  Master  Peter  for  a  short  time, 
and  Mr.  Shakely  informed  me,  he  expected  his 
friend,  Sir  Benjamin  Blancmange,  whose  visits  were 
of  a  condoling  nature.  In  short,  one  was  a  valetudi¬ 
narian  as  well  as  the  other,  and  they  generally  met  for 
mutual  consolation,  and  to  canvass  over  their  various 
complaints.  Sir  Benjamin  appeared,  and  they  no 
sooner  met  than  they  attacked  each  other  thus  : — 

Shake.  Sir  Benjamin  Blancmange — Mr.  Mathews 
—I’m  glad  to  see  you  look  so  well  this  morning. 

Sir.  B.  I  never  was  worse  in  all  my  life!  How  is 
your  appetite  ? 

Shake .  Very  poor — I  didn’t  eat  an  ounce  last 
night. 

Sir.  B.  I  didn’t  eat  half  an  ounce.  I’ve  had  an  at¬ 
tack  of  the  rheumatism. 

Shake.  So  have  I,  in  my  arm. 

Sir  B.  I’ve  had  it  in  both  arms. 

Shake.  I  couldn’t  rest  last  night— I  had  such  a 
horrid  dream. 

Sir  B .  I  could’nt  sleep  at  all,  I  had  so  many  horrid 
dreams. 

Shake.  I’ve  been  obliged  to  have  a  doctor. 

Sir  B.  I  was  compelled  to  have  two. 

Shake.  I  lost  a  pint  of  blood. 

)  Sir  B.  I  was  obliged  to  lose  two. 

Shake .  I’ve  had  a  terrible  pain  in  my  head. 

Sir  B.  I’ve  had  terrible  pains  all  over  me. 

Shake .  I  can’t  hold  out  another  year. 


10 


MATHEWS*  INVITATIONS. 


Sir  B.  I  can’t  hold  out  for  a  month. 

Thus,  after  listening  to  my  entertaining  friends,  till 
they  had  completely  compared  notes,  I  was  agreeably 
surprised  by  the  introduction  of  breakfast,  when  my 
poor  weak  host,  Mr.  Shakely,  exclaimed— Peter,  Pm 
very  nervous  this  morning— nay,  so  nervous  that  I 
have  dropped  my  snuff-box  into  the  tea-pot.  I  don’t 
know  whether  either  of  you  gentlemen  like  snuff  in 
your  tea. 

I  next  remembered  an  invitation  I  had  to  join  Lady 
Dawdle  in  a  pic-nic  party  to  Norwood.  Now  I  had 
heard  of  political  pic-nics  and  theatrical  pic-nics,  but 
never  of  such  pic-niekry  as  her  ladyship’s  hefoie  ;  so 
I  resolved,  for  the  novelty  of  the  thing,  to  accompany 
her  ladyship  ;  and  as  she  told  me,  with  her  own  dear 
delicate  lips,  that  there  would  be  quadrilles  afterwards 
at  her  own  house,  I  consulted  The  Cook’s  Oracle, 
where  I  found  a  recipe  for  concocting  a  rout,  which 
is  briefly  thus  : — Take  a  tolerable-sized  room  with  a 
slow  fire  ;  put  in  several  males  and  females — season 
them  with  a  little  wit,  but,  as  that  is  scarce  a  few 
jokes  at  any  body’s  expense  ;  stir  them  up  with  a 
couple  of  violins,  a  clarionet,  flute,  and  harp,  and  let 
them  intermix  indiscriminately  with  each  other;  then 
introduce  your  wine,  and  when  you  find  the  whole 
sufficiently  warm/the  scene  will  clear  off  itself.  So, 
to  finish  my  Monday’s  excursion,  I’ll  give  a  descrip¬ 
tion  of  the  pic-nic  and  quadrilles. 

Song.— GIPSYING  EXCURSION  AND 
QUADRILLES. 

Air — “  Let  us  all  be  unhappy  together .” 

Our  party  for  Norwood  is  ready, 

And  each,  as  the  moment  approaches, 

Advances  uncommonly  steady, 

To  fill  up  the  sides  of  the  coaches. 

With  jest,  smile,  and  laughter  so  gay, 

The  ladies  all  smile  at  the  weather, 

For  mirth  seems  the  whim  of  the  day, 
And  we  all  must  be  merry  together. 


MATHEWS*  INVITATfONS. 


11 


(Spoken)  “  So  we  are  going  to  Norwood.” — Dole¬ 
ful)  “  Yes  ;  and  I  would  we  were  therp.  Where  shall 
we  put  our  bags ?” — “There,  at  the  back  of  the  car¬ 
riage.”  (Doleful)  “I  never  leave  my  provisions,  so 
wherever  I  sit  they  must  sit  too.” — “  Have  you  any 
idea  of  a  pic-nic,  madam  ?” — ( Lady  with  stoppage  in 
her  nose)  “No,  sir,  I  have  no  notion.” — “It’s  a  fine 
day,  miss.” — “Very.” — “  Pleasant  ride.” — “Very.” 
— “  Hot  sun.” — “Very.” — “It’s  likely  we  shall  have 
rain.”-^“  Very.” — (A  Dashing  Gentleman)  “  Talking 
of  rain,  I  like  a  little  rain  where  there  are  ladies  in 
company — I  like  fun.  Ha!  the  coachman  nearly 
drove  over  a  pig — I  wish  he  had — I  like  fun. 
Pray  what  is  that  lady  doing  ?” — (Lady  with 
stoppage  in  nose)  “That  lady  is  lothing — “Loth- 
ing  P  I  don’t  comprehend.” — (Lady)  “  You  don’t — 
why  she  is  lothing.” — “Pray,  sir,  can  you  knot ?” — 
“  Sir,  I  can-wof.” — (Mr.  Doleful) %i  What’s  the  matter 
with  you?  you  seem  uncomfortable.” — “I  don’t 
know  how  I  should  feel  otherwise,  for  I’ve  been  sitting 
upon  the  knives  and  forks  for  the  last  half  hour,  and 
here  are  five  or  six  of  them  sticking  against  me  in  the 
most  pointed  manner.  If  you  call  this  gipsymg,  I 
was  never  more  cut  up — and  the  knives  and  forks  have 
had  a  proper  pic-nic  at  me.” — ( Gent.)  “  That’s  right, 
Doleful !  Let  them  remain,  for  I  like  fun.”  So 

With  jest,  tale,  and  laughter  so  gay, 

The  ladies  all  smile  at  the  weather, 

For  mirth  seems  the  whim  of  the  day, 
And  we  all  must  be  merry  together. 
But  now  we’re  approaching  the  ground, 

Nor  dreaming  of  troubles  or  crosses, 
Where  we  hope  all  the  treat  will  be  found, 

For  in  pleasure  we  think  not  of  losses. 

Poor  Doleful  sits  still  as  a  gun, 

And  scorns  ev’ry  thought  to  be  merry  ; 
One’s  a  lotion ,  the  other’s  for  fun, 

And  Miss  for  each  answer  says  “very.” 

( Imitating  bursting  of  spruce  beer  and  soda-water 


12 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


bottles.)  “Why  bless  me,  all  the  spruce  beer  and 
soda  water  has  gone  off.” — “  Aye,  I  suppose  the 
knives  and  forks  have  been  drawing  the  corks.” 
Doleful.  “  How  very  cold  my  feet  are  !”  “  I’m  not 

astonished  at  that,  for  the  ice  has  been  melting  in  the 
bottom  of  the  carriage  ever  since  I  noticed  how  hot 
the  sun  was.” — Lady  Dawdle.  “  Well,  nevel  mild, 
we  are  now  on  the  spolt ;  but  I  hope,  sir,  you  hav’nt 
forgolt  the  wile  (wine.”) — “  O  no;  1  told  mv  man  to 
be  very  particular  in  putting  it  up.” — “  Now,  now 
we  have  arrived,  where  is  the  marquee  ?”  “  Well 

now,  that’s  very  strange  ;  I  quite  forgot  to  bring  it.” 
— “  But  I’ve  not  forgot  the  corkscrew  ;  here  it  is.” 
— “  Now,  now  for  the  wine.”— Why,  bless  my  soul ! 
my  man  has  forgot  to  send  the  wine.” — Doleful.  “  I 
never  forget  any  thing  :  I’ve  got  my  provisions  !” — 
— “Ha!  see  there!  Pompey  V\s  run  away  with  her 
ladyship’s  tongue!” — Dolejul J  “I  defy  Pompey  to 
run  away  with  any  thing  of  mine.”  Gentleman.  I 
wish  I  could  steal  Doleful’s  round  of  beef.  See  ! 
see!  Pompey  has  got  it;  hah!  he  runs  down  hill 
with  it.  See !  they  are  rolling  one  after  the  other 
into  the  water!” — At  length,  for  the  want  of  a 
marquee,  our  funny  friend  proposed  that  four  gentle¬ 
men  should  hold  the  ends  of  a  shawl  over  the  heads 
of  the  party,  and  thus  enjoy  our  rural  repast;  when 
sitting  down,  we  found  that  every  gentleman  had 
brought  a  joint  of  mutton,  and  I  urged  the  necessity 
of  every  man  devouring  his  own  leg. 

With  jest,  tale,  and  laughter  so  gay,  &c. 

Once  more  we’re  assembled  in  town, 

Where  mirth  still  has  sanction  to  dash  on; 

There  are  carriages  now  setting  down, 

To  put  forth  the  pinks  of  the  fashion. 

With  officers  clearing  the  way, 

Footmen  leading,  my  lady’s  room  filling, 

The  night  seems  much  brighter  than  day,  . 

As  we  gayly  commence  our  quadrilling. 

(Spoken)  “  What  quadrille?” — “  Caledonians.”-^ 


Mathews’  Invitations. 


13 


a  Why,  what  tall  gentleman  is  that,  that  throws  his 
leg  across  the  room  in  that  pompous  manner !” — - 
“  Oh  !  that’s  Mr.  Limber ;  he’s  a  very  tall  man.” — 
“It  you  expect  many  more  like  him,  we  had  better 
have  the  Lancers.” — “  Has  that  gentleman  come  to 
foot  it  to-night?” — “No,  he’s  come  to  leg  it.” — 
“Leg  it !  bless  me,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?” — 
“  Why,  he’s  got  a  coik  leg,” — “  Dear  me,  how  does 
he  undo  it?” — “  Why,  with  a  corkscrew.” — “  What 
does  your  ladyship  think  of  the  quadrilles?” — “  Oh, 
they  are  vely  nilce.” — “Ah,  Mr.  Fashionist,  you  are 

just  in  time.” - “’Pon  honour,  I’m  afraid  I  shall 

put  out  the  dance,  for  I’ve  brought  two  left-handed 

gloves.” - “  O,  then,  do  dance,  sir,  for  I  like  fun!” 

—“But,  sir,  consider  my  gloves.”— “  Why, certainly 
they  would  look  odd  ;  but  kid  is  scarce  since  it  be¬ 
came  so  fashionable  a  '"mg  gentlemen.” 

With  jest,  tale,  and  laughter  so  gay, 

The  ladies  all  smile  at  the  weather, 

For  mirth  seemed  the  whim  of  the  day, 
And  we  all  have  been  merry  together. 

On  Tuesday,  I  received  an  invitation  to  dine  with 
Sir  Donald  Scrupleton,  where  I  was  introduced  to 
Sir  Harry  Skelter  and  Mr.  Popper,  a  nephew  of  my 
old  frend  Major  Longbow.  Sir  Donald  was  a  man 
who  never  had  an  opinion  of  his  own  ;  Mr.  Popper 
appeared  a  regular-bred  sportsman  ;  and  Sir  Harry 
Skelter  seemed  to  entertain  the  most  contemptible 
ideas  of  every  thing  in  the  world  ;  which  may  be 
exemplified  by  the  recital  of  a  dialogue  between  the 
parties 

Sir  D.  Sir  Harry,  you  have  travelled  a  great  deal, 
and  must  have  seen  some  wonderful  things  in  your 
time. 

Sir  H.  No  ;  I  was  very  much  disappointed  :  every 
jbody  says  so  much  of  every  thing. 

Sir  D.  Did  you  see  any  thing  curious  in  America  ? 

Si  H.  There  I  was  disappointed  ;  people  talk  of 
A  rica, — I  saw  nothing  there.  Certainly  there 

B 


14 


MATHEWS1*  INVITATIONS. 


were  white  people  and  black  people,  nothing  else: 
but  every  body  says  so  much  of  every  thing.  You’ve 
been  in  America,  Mr.  Mathews  ? 

Mr.  M.  I  have,  sir.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
Niagara  ? 

Sir  H.  1  was  quite  disappointed ;  there  was  so 
much  noise,  I  couldn’t  see  any  thing:  but  I  don’t 
know  how  it  is  every  body  says  so  much  of  every  thing. 

Sir  D.  You  have  been  in  Italy,  too.  Did  you  go 
to  Rome  ? 

Sir  H.  Yes,  but  I  was  quite  disappointed  ;  they’ve 
got  their  Saint  Peter’s,  to  be  sure,  but  it’s  nothing 
like  Saint  Paul’s  ;  but  every  body  says  so  much  about 
every  thing. 

Mr.  M.  That  reminds  me  of  a  curious  fact:  an 
English  gentleman  ordered  his  coachman  to  drive  to 
Vesuvius  when  its  top  was  in  a  blaze  ;  but  no  sooner 
had  he  arrived  there  than  he  put  his  head  out  of  the 
carriage  window,  looked  with  much  indifference  on 
the  scene  before  him,  exclaimed,  snapping  his  fingers, 
u  humbug,”  and  ordered  his  coachman  to  drive  back 
again.  Did  you  ever  see  the  pope,  Sir  Harry  ? 

Sir  H.  Yes,  but  was  quite  disappointed  ;  he  was 
quite  as  old,  but  not  so  fat,  as  Pope  the  actor :  but 
every  body  says  so  much  of  every  thing. 

I  had  been  observing  for  some  time,  that  my  friend 
Popper  could’nt  get  in  a  word  edgeways ;  so  mo¬ 
destly  asked  him,  if  he  could  favour  us  with  a  sport¬ 
ing  anecdote  ? 

“  O  yes,”  says  Popper,  with  avidity.  “I  had  a 
stanch  pointer  once  ;  I  went  out  shooting  to  Ball’s 
Bush  ;  you  know  Ball’s  Bush,  I  suppose  ;  but  never 
mind  if  you  don’t,— that’s  of  little  consequence  ;  well, 

I  brought  a  bird  down,  and,  in  going  to  secure  it,  I 
missed,  my  way,  and  lost  my  Popsey.  I  couldn’t 
find  her  by  any  means,  and  at  last  gave  up  the  idea 
altogether;  when  going  to  the  spot  on  the  27th  ofl 
February  the  year  following,  1  saw  the  skeleton  of  a 
patridge  lying  on  the  ground,  and  not  very  far  from 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


15 


it,  my  faithful  Popsey,  likewise  a  skeleton,  in  the 
very  act  of  pointing.” 

Sir  D.  O,  that’s  too  much. 

Popper .  It’s  a  fact ;  it  was  on  the  27th  of  February. 

Sir  H.  That’s  the  way ;  every  body  says  so  much 
of  every  thing.  I’ve  read  Captain  Cook’s  Voyages 
and  Travels ;  so  I  was  obliged  to  go  and  see  every 
thing  he  had  seen,  but  I  was  quite  disappointed.  I 
read  Captain  Parry’s  account  of  his  voyage  to  the 
North  Pole,  so  I  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  North  Pole, 
but  I  was  quite  disappointed  ;  I  thought  we  should  all 
been  have  frozen  to  death,  but  we  were  not :  then  I 
thought,  at  least,  that  the  frost  would  have  bitten  our 
noses  off,  but  none  of  us  lost  our  noses ;  I  was  quite 
disappointed ;  but  every  body  says  so  much  of  every 
thing.  There’s  nothing  wonderful  on  the  face  of 
the  earth. 

“  I  beg  pardon,”  says  Popper,  “  but  I’ll  tell  you  of 
something  wonderful.  I  had  a  greyhound  ;  the  grey¬ 
hound  was  a  lady,  and,  was  as  all  ladies  wish  to  be 
who  love  their  lords.  We  were  out  together,  when 
I  saw  a  hare.  I  gave  the  view  hollo, — away  she  went, 
’  and  I  never  knew  that  the  lady  hare  was  similarly 
situated  to  the  lady  greyhound,  and,  when  I  got  up  to 
*  them,  they  were  about  one  hundred  yards  distant 
from  each  other,  and  both  had  an  equal  number  of 
young  ones.  I  gave  another  view  hollo,  off  they 
went,  the  greyhound  ran  down  the  hare,  and  every 
pup  did  the  same  by  the  young  ones.” 

Sir  Donald  did  not  know  how  to  credit  this  story: 
but  Popper  assured  him  it  was  a  fact,  and  pulled  out 
his  pocket-book,  to  give  him  the  time,  place,  and 
date. 

I  next  was  invited  to  the  Kings  Theatre,  Italian 
Opera,  and,  although  I  prefer  native  talent  to  any 
other,  I  certainly  must  confess,  that  I  go  there  more 
for  the  sake  of  viewing  that  fashion  and  beauty  which 
is  so  frequently  concentrated  to  keep  trade  in  coun¬ 
tenance,  and  stimulate  others  to  follow  their  exam- 


16 


MATHEWS*  INVITATIONS. 


pie.  At  the  same  time,  I  am  not  blind  to  their  follies* 
and  sometimes  enjoy  a  hearty  laugh  at  them ;  but  l 
will  explain  the  whole  in  a  song 
Song— VISIT  TO  THE  ITALIAN  OPERA. 

Air — Manager  Strut . 

Off  to  the  opera  now  we  go, 

To  see  all  the  dancing  and  singing  and  show ; 

And  servants  dress’d  so  gay 
Are  lounging  time  away  : 

See,  see  the  throng  approaches, 

All  dress’d  and  painted  too. 

See  how  they  stray,  to  pass  the  time  away. 

With  smiles,  lord,  they  look  so  bewitching, 

As  out  of  chariots  tumbling: 

Some  are  for  places  grumbling. 

I’ve  ne’er  been  here  before, 

Where’s  box  a  hundred  and  sixty-four  ? 

Sir,  sir,  go  higher,— 

You’ll  be  higher, 

By  stairs  many  a  score. 

(Spoken)  “  So,  this  is  the  Italian  Opera?— “  \esf 
papa,  and  you  mustn’t  wear  your  hat  here  either.”— 
“  This  way,  sir,  this  way  ;  half  a  guinea,  if  you  please, 
sir.” — “  Half  a  guinea  !  (searching  his  pockets.) 
How  unfortunate !  Can  you  cash  me  a  check  on 
Hammersly  for  500Z. ?” — “No  sir;  you  must  goon 
farther ;  I  am  not  the  check  taker.”— “  Stand  out  of 
the  way,  sir,  and  let  the  company  pass;  I  hope  we 
are  not  all  to  be  checked  on  account  of  your  check.” 
— “  Holloa  !  my  hearties,  how  much  ?”---“  Five  shil¬ 
lings  to  the  gallery.”— “  O  !  I  suppose  you  charges 
three  shillings  more,  because  this  is  the  King’s  Thea¬ 
tre  ;  well,  I  always  loved  old  George,  and  I  don't  know 
any  body  that’s  more  deserving  of  a  crown.”— 
“  Which  is  184,  sir?”— “Up  stairs  sir.”-  -(Imitates 
walking  up  stairs.) — “164,  I  want.”— “Up  stairs, 
sir.” — “  Go  on,  my  boy ;  I’ll  stand  by  you  to  the 
last.”  ( Old  man  clapping)  “  Bravo  !  bravo  !”— 
(Young  Lady)  “La!  pa,  do  be  quiet— you  must  not 


MATHEWS5  INVITATIONS. 


17 


applaud  here.”— “  I  applaud  wherever  I  please;  but, 
I  say,  when  does  the  performance  begin  ?  I’ve 
heard  nothing  but  singing  yet.— (.Applauds  again) 
—Is  that  him?  Is  that  him?”— “Who?” — u  Why, 
him.”— “  I  don’t  know  what  you  mean.” — “  I  mean, 
is  that  him?” — “Yes,  there  he  is— there  he  is!” 

(applauding  outrageously .) - -[Here  Mr .  Mathews 

cases  himself  in  a  suit  of  chain  armour ,  and  gives 
a  striking  imitation  of  Veluti.  When  he  has  con¬ 
cluded ,] - “  What  is  that  ?— What  is  that  ?  (taking 

his  opera-glass)— O  I  Veluti  in  speculum  /” 

Bravo  !— Bravissimo  ! — Encora ! — Encora ! 

Oh  !  Bravo  !— Bravissimo  !— Encora !— Encora  ! 

Now  we  are  looking  for  some  treat 
That  comes  from  their  voices,  or  else  from  their  feet, 
And  all  admire  the  scene, 

And  all  admire  the  scene, 

See  another  now  appears, 

With  soft  and  melting  strains; 

They  sing,  O  dear !  how  very  clear  ! 

It  is  a  Paradise  for  certain, 

It  is  a  Paradise  for  certain  ! 

O  !  the  action  !  They’re  adoring ! 

The  action — they’re  adoring  ! 

With  quizzing-glasses  out, 

Now  how  they  gaze  about, 

O  hear,  he’s  very  fine  ! 

Isn’t  she  divine ! 

Encore  !— Encore  ! — Encore ! 

[Here  Mr.  Mathews  gives  imitations  of  other 
popular  singers .] 

(Spoken.)  “I  say,  what’s  the  stage-manager’s 
name  ?”  “  Giovani.”— “  Giovani !  Bless  me,  he  had 
a  great  run  about  four  years  ago.”— “  What  is  the 
piece  called  to-night  ?” — “The  Lady  of  the  Lake.” 
— “Who  is  it  written  by  ?”—“  Sir  Walter  Scott.”— 
“  Who  composed  the  music  ?”— “  Handel.” — “  O,  I 
believe  he  was  very  famous  at  water-pieces.” — “  Buy 
a  book  of  the  performances.”— “  What’s  the  use  ?  I 

B  2 


18 


MATHEWS'  INVITATIONS'. 


don’t  understand  French.”— 44 1  want  a  bill — bring 
me  a  bill.”— “They  don’t  sell  bills  here,  pa.”— 44  O, 
never  mind  ;  I’ve  got  one  in  my  pocket ; — it’s  a  large 
one  the  boy  left  at  the  shop  this  morning;  it  makes 
no  matter  being  a  little  ragged,  for  I  pulled  it  off  the 
tenter-hooks  before  I  left  home.”—44  Who  is  that  man 
that  seems  so  attentive  ?”— 44  That’s  Townsend.”— 
“Townsend  !  Well,  I  never  thought  to  find  Town’s- 
end  in  the  Haymarket.” 

Bravo ! — Bravissimo !  he. 
PART  II. 

In  turning  over  my  cards  for  the  rest  of  the  week, 
I  found  that  Professor  Archibald  M’Rumbold  was  at 
the  top  of  the  list.  Mr.  M’Rumbold  was  a  rigid 
Scoth  disciplinarian,  who  turned  the  most  trivial  cir¬ 
cumstances  into  matters  of  great  weight,  and  whose 
eyes,  at  the  slightest  news  or  rumour,  bespoke  that,  if 
possible,  he  would  search  into  the  mind  of  the  relater 
with  the  most  terrific  curiosity.  Well,  I  proceeded 
to  this  gentleman’s  house,  and  the  door  was  opened 
by  his  attached  servant,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the 
name,  Mr.  Robin  Crankie,  a  gentleman  from  Nor¬ 
thumberland,  and  who  carried  his  native  bur  with  the 
greatest  facility  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  He  appeared 
to  be  a  second  fac-simile  of  the  already-mentioned 
Master  Peter  in  his  manners.  After  a  few  moments’ 
conversation  with  this  person,  I  was  introduced  into 
the  presence  of  the  professor,  who  received  me  with 
all  due  solemnity,  and  placed  me  at  his  table  with  the 
greatest  observance  of  etiquette  I  have  ever  experi¬ 
enced.  I  found  one  chair  empty,  and  understood 
that  its  absent  tenant  was  a  Mr.  M4Pherson,  an  in¬ 
mate  of  the  house,  whose  long  stay  seemed,  by  the 
professor,  to  be  considered  as  a  circumstance  of  the 
greatest  consequence ;  for,  putting  one  hand  on  the 
table,  and  throwing  himself  back  in  a  majestic  style, 
he  thus  addressed  Mr.  Robin  :  44  Why,  Robin,  Robin, 
where  can  M4Pherson  be  ?  I  never  knew  any  thing 
so  surprising ;  what  can  detain  him  ?” 

Robin.  Cod,  sir,  he  is  in  the  boost  somewhere. 


MATHEWS5  INVITATIONS. 


19 


“  Go  and  search  for  him,  Robin  !  Go  and  search  for 
him  !  I  never  knew  any  thing  so  surprising  !”  Robin 
obeyed  his  master,  and  thinking  to  keep  up  the  900- 
versation,  I  simply  asked  Mr.  M‘Rumbold  this  ques¬ 
tion,— Whether  he  had  read  in  the  newspapers  an 
account  of  the  execution  of  a  Spanish  nobleman  of 
distinction  ?  “  No,  sir  \—( imitating  his  wonder-struck 
countenance)— No,  sir!  but  tell  me!  tell  me,  Mr. 
Mathews,  what  was  his  name  Really,  sir,  it 
quite  escaped  my  memory  to  look.”— “  Not  know  the 
name  of  a  Spanish  nobleman  of  distinction  who  was 
executed !  Mr.  Mathews,  I’m  greatly  surprised , 
greatly  surprised ,  sir,  at  you !” 

Seeing  this  was  a  matter  of  importance,  I  soon 
christened  the  gentleman,  and  went  on  with  my  story  ; 
but  was  again  interrupted  by  the  professor,  who  in¬ 
quired  what  his  crime  was?  I  spent  a  few  moments 
longer  in  inventing  one,  and  at  length  fixed  upon 
high  treason ;  this  added  additional  weight  to  my 
tale,  and  asking  Mr.  Rumbold’s  permission,  I  again 
proceeded.  “Well,  sir,  being  found  guilty,  the  don 
was  escorted  to  the  place  of  execution  amidst  multi¬ 
tudes  of  people,  and  the  poor  gentleman  having  ar¬ 
rived  there” — “Mr.  Mathews,  Mr.  Mathews  !  I  won¬ 
der,  sir,  at  your  want  of  discernment,  in  calling  a 
nobleman  of  Spain  a  poor  gentleman  !  Sir,  I  am  sur¬ 
prised — very  much  surprised .”  Having  got  into 
another  hobble,  I  found  it  rather  hard  to  get  out  of  it  5 
but  a  dozen  apologies  did  the  business,  and  I  again 
went  on. — Well,  sir,  the  Spanish  nobleman  regarded 
the  executioner  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  ad¬ 
dressed  him  with  great  seriousness  and  sensibility, 
saying,  if  he  did  his  business  effectually,  he  would 
present  him  with  three  hundred  piastres.  The  exe¬ 
cutioner  informed  him  he  should  have  no  occasion  to 
complain.  The  nobleman’s  head  was  placed  on  the 
block,  and  the  fatal  blow  was  struck ;  but,  sad  to  re¬ 
late,  the  nobleman  slowly  raised  his  head  again,  and 
gazed  on  the  man  with  a  look  of  agony.” 

“Well,  sir.” 


20 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


“Well,  sir. — ‘Shake  your  head,  my  lord,’  ex¬ 
claimed  the  executioner,  ‘  and  you  will  find  all  light.’ 

“The  nobleman  did  so,  and  the  head  dropped  off 
of  his  shoulders!” 

How  was  I  surprised,  after  relating  this  story,  to 
hear  the  professor  inquire, — whether  the  man  re¬ 
ceived  the  three  hundred  piastres?  I  remained  with 
Mr.  M‘Rumbo]d  till  it  was  rather  late,  and  found 
myself  traversing  the  streets  of  London  at  five 
o’clock  on  a  fine  morning ;  but,  as  there  are  many 
of  the  audience  who  have  never  been  up  at  that  early 
hour,  I  shall  put  my  observations  into  the  shape  of  a 
song,  and  strive  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  upon  the 
subject. 

Song. — LONDON  AT  FIYrE  O’CLOCK  IN 
THE  MORNING. 

Air — Popular  Country  Dance. 

Now’s  the  time — bang  up  prime  ; 

Teach  me  how  to  sing  in  rhyme, 

London  city, all  so  gay,  early  in  the  Morning; 
Gard’ners  roam,  quite  at  home, 

Into  Convent  Garden,  come 
Sago,  see,— coffee— tea— every  street  adorning* 

“Clo!  Clo  !  Clo  !”  (Jew  clothesman.)--1 “  I  say, 
Moses,  have  you  come  from  the  Old  Bailey  ?”  (boy) 
—“Why  so  Because  I  thought  you  might  be 
getting  something  there.”— “  Well,  suppose  I  did,  do 
you  think  your  peoples  are  to  keep  all  the  gallows  to 
themselves  ?”— “  Hare-skin  !  Rabbit-skin  !  Cook, 
have  you  any  hare-skin  ?”— No ;  my  mistress  cuts 
them  all  up  to  make  comforters  for  the  children.”— 
“  Coach  !  Coach  !”  (in  a  hoarse  voice.)—"  I’m  hired.” 
—“I  say  you  are  not.”— “  I  says  I  am.”— “But  I  say 
you  are  not.”— “  Why,  how  d’ye  know  ?— “  I  know 
you  are  not,  you  scoundrel !”—“  You’re  very  handy  at 
your  good  names,  howdsomever,  but  look  inside  if 
you  don’t  believe,— there  !  There’s  a  gentleman  lay¬ 
ing  on  both  seats  asleep  ;  he’s  engaged  me  for  the 
whole  day— he’s  going  to  the  Royalty  Theatre,  in' 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS, 


21 


Wellclose  Square,  this  evening,  and  is  determined  to 
be  there  in  time.”—1 “  What’s  o’clock,  watchman?”— 
44  I  can’t  tell ;  I’m  off  my  beat.”—44  You  deserve  to  be 
beat  for  the  answer.”— 44  Hollo !  Who  have  you  here  ? 
This  gentleman  seems  to  have  business  on  both  sides 
of  the  way.”  (reeling.) 

Drunken  Gentleman.  44  Hallo !  coach,  I  say.”— 
44  I’m  hired.”— “Yes ;  and  I’m  tired,  so  we  shall  suit 
very  well  together.”— “  Do  you  want  ere  a  basket- 
woman,  your  honour  “  No,  sir ;  much  obliged  to 
you — no,  sir.”— “  Och,  be  after  using  me  your 
honour.” — 44  No,  sir ;  much  obliged  to  you — no,  sir.” 
— 44  And  does  your  honour  mistake  the  sexes  sure  ; 
and  an’t  I  a  woman,  now,  only  by  my  coat  and  hat 
you  are  after  taking  me  for  one  of  yourselves;  but  if 
your  honour  will  only  step  into  my  basket,  I’ll  trip 
home  with  you  as  safe  as  a  bunch  of  turnips,  and 
much  cheaper  into  the  bargain.” 

For  now’s  the  time,  &c. 
Every  maid  begins  to  sing, 

Mops  they  trundle — clothes  they  ring, 
Turning  Morpheus  from  their  eyes. 

Spirits  play  in  glasses, 

Cdits  and  horses  form  a  throng, 

Going  merrily  along, 

Cracking  many  a  joke  or  song— 

Tune  it  gayly  passess. 

(Spoken.)  “Ha!  why  it’s  Jack!  our  friend  Jack, 
How  d’ye  do— you  rise  early.”—44  No  ;  I’ve  been  up 
Z«£e.”— 44  Why,  where’s  your  cabriolet?”— 44  Oh  !  it’s 
gone— gone,  my  dear  fellow :  played  with  a  friend- 
lost  all  the  cash— two  to  one  on  the  cab,  says  he— 
done,  says  I ;  away  went  the  dice,  and  I  lost  my 
man,— but  that’s  nothing.  Owe  him  two  year’s  wages 
—rather  a  troublesome  article.  So  away  went  my  ca¬ 
briolet  and  friend  together,  and  here  am  I.— 4  Sweep! 
sweep  !’  how  I  pity  those  creatures,  who  are  obliged 
to  plod  through  the  dirty  paths  of  life  to  keep  us 
clean.”— 44  Aye,  a  friend  of  mine  has  invented  a  plan 
to  do  away  with  climbing  boys.”— 44  How  is  that, 


22 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


pray?”— “He  means  to  substitute  climbing  girls.”— 
“Indeed  “  Sir,  I  am  surprised  at  your  introducing 
such  a  subject  at  this  time  of  the  morning.—*  Sweep, 
sweep  !’—  Here,  my  little  fellow  ;  here’s  sixpence  for 
you.”— “  Thank’ee,  sir!”— “Come  Bill,  make  a  bow 
to  the  gentleman. — (The  master  in  a  whisper  to  the 
boy)  I  say,  Bill,  von’t  you  be  arter  treating  your 
master  to  a  dram  ? — (Aloud.)  I  always  takes  care  of 
the  boy’s  money,  your  honour.” 

For  now’s  the  time,  &c. 
Milk  begins  to  walk  around, 

Cherries  ripe  and  round  and  sound, 
Barrow-women  plod  the  ground, 

Bullocks,  sheep,  to  Sraithfied  creep, 
Onward  at  their  leisure  ; 

Half  the  town  is  fast  asleep, 

Except  where  here  and  there  a  sweep 
Calls  ’em  from  the  pleasure. 

(Spoken.)  “  Mackrel !  ah,  mackreal !” — What  a 
number  of  derivations  that  word  has  in  London,  to 
be  sure  !  now  only  listen  : — “  Ah,  meckral !  eh, 
mackreal!  oh,  mackerall !  ah,  mackera !”  (Imita¬ 
ting  the  various  voices.)  “  Gooseberries,  ripe  goose¬ 
berries!” — “  Why,  what  notes  do  you  call  them 
“T  should  consider  them  as  Barrow  notes.”— “  Milk 
below!  milk  above!  me  oh!  me  oh!”  Why,  what 
can  that  man  mean  by  me  oh !  Surely  there’s  no 
English  for  me  oh!”— “No;  but  it’s  good  French; 
for  all  that  mi  oh  !  means  half  water.”~l  say,  why 
don’t  you  move  your  cart  there  What’s  that  to 
you”— “Vhy,  it  is  to  me!  I’se  been  standing  here 
for  the  last  half  hour  ;  so,  why  don’t  you  move  on 
your  horse,  and  let  me  get  over  the  way  ?”— “If  you 
wish  to  get  over  the  way,  you  must  get  under  my 
horse’s  belly.”  “Veil,  you’re  a  gentleman,  full 
weight,  I  don’t  think.”— 44  Hollo,  coachee,  are  you 
hired  ?”—(  Coachman  yawns.)  “Yes;  I’ve  been  wait¬ 
ing  for  a  gentleman  all  night.  Oh,  here  he  is.  Here 
I  am,  your  honour.”-44  Well,  what  of  that?”-44 1 
drove  your  honour  here  last  night;  my  fare  was 


MATHEWS  -  INVITATIONS. 


23 


eighteen-pence”— “  Oh,  true,  true  ;  and  I’ll  pay  you.” 
—“Yes,  sir ;  but  now  I’ve  been  waiting  all  night,  my 
fare’s  seven-and-twenty  shillings  and  nine-pence.” 

But  now’s  the  time,  &cc. 

We  ariived  at  our  friend’s  and  were  ushered  into  a 
room  where  all  the  minor  part  of  the  family  were  as¬ 
sembled,  and  in  the  arms  of  an  ugly  black  woman 
was  placed  a  handsome  white  child.  This  amiable 
lady  was  the  nurse.  “Very  fine  children,”  exclaimed 
Mr.  John  Rally,  “sweet  little  creatures!”  Mrs. 
White,  for  so  was  her  black  ladyship  named,  showed 
her  teeth,  and  began  dandling  the  child,  and  exciting 
his  mellifluous  voice  to  the  tune  of“  High  diddle  did¬ 
dle,  the  cat’s  in  the  fiddle,”  &c.-~ 1 “  Very  pretty  air,” 
cried  my  friend  ;  “  I  must  get  you  to  teach  it  to  me, 
Mrs.  White  ” 

“  Ees,  massa  ;  but  me  know  anodder,  vere  much 
betterer  den  dat.” 

And  she  began — 

“  Let’s  have  it,”  exclaimed  he. 

Dimity  dimity  dot, 

The  mouse  jumpt  out  ob  de  pot,  fee. 

This  and  a  curious  game  played  on  the  child’s  fin¬ 
gers,  entitled  “Dis  Pig  went  to  Mar  ket,”  &tc.  made  up 
our  entertainment,  and  it  was  broken  in  upon  by  the 
sudden  appearance  of  Mrs.  Dilberry  herself,  who  in¬ 
vited  us  after  a  long  harangue  on  the  merits  of  her 
little  brood,  into  the  presence  of  her  husband  ;  de¬ 
claring  that  Mr.  Dilberry  was  his  own  butler,  and  we 
should  most  assuredly  find  him  in  the  cellar.  We 
journeyed  thither,  and  discovered  him  in  the  act  of 
uncorking  a  bottle  of  claret.  His  face  resembled  a 
scarlet  pincushion,  and  he  received  us  something  after 
this  manner.  (Imitating  Dilberry .)  “  How  d’ye  do, 
Mr.  Mathews  P  (Drawing  the  cork.)  Confound  the 
bottle.  Real  1812,  Mathews,  fine  vintage!  (Draw¬ 
ing  the  cork.)  Hope  to  see  you  well,  Mr.  Rally.  I’ll 
have  your  neck  off,  but  I’ll  conquer  you.”— At  length 
he  succeeded,  and  we  soon  found  ourselves  at  the 
dinner-table,  but  what  was  my  surprise  to  see  eight 
small  knives  and  forks  placed  around  it,  and  after  a 


24 


mathews’  invitations. 


short  notice,  the  little  large  family  were  again  intro¬ 
duced.  First  I  heard  a  rattling  of  feet  on  the  stairs, 
something  after  this  style;  and,  in  a  discordant  noise 
of  laughing  and  crying,  tW\s  well-regulated  little  com¬ 
pany  entered  the  room,  Master  George  bellowing  in  a 
key  above  any  note  I  ever  heard. 

“  Hush  !  Hush  !”  cried  his  little  sister,  “  don’t  you 
see  there’s  company  ?” 

“Here’s  Mr.  Mathew’s,  my  dear,”  exclaimed  his 
mamma. 

“  I  don’t  care  for  Mr.  Mathews— that  I  don’t !  Em¬ 
ma  shoved  me  down  stairs.” 

“  No,  I  did’nt,  mamma !  he  fell  over  Shummy.” 

The  storm  being  a  little  appeased,  Mrs.  Dilberry 
suddenly  recollected  that  the  children  had  not  made 
their  congees,  and  a  full  half  hour  was  taken  up  in  ad¬ 
miring  their  different  graces.  This  being  concluded, 
we  af  length  sat  down  to  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Dilberry 
offered  her  civilities  to  me,  which  I  thought  would  be 
far  better  honoured  in  the  breach  than  the  observance. 
“  Really,  Mr.  Mathews,  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but 
will  you  take  upon  you  to  carve  the  leg  of  mutton.  I 
always  like  the  little  dears  to  be  served  first.  No  fat 
for  George,  if  you  please,  sir.  A  small  piece  of  un¬ 
derdone  for  Emma,  and  a  large  piece  of  well  done 
for  William.  Thank  you,  sir.” 

“La,  mamma,  Shummy  hasn’t  made  his  bow  yet.” 

Another  stoppage  for  Mr.  Shummy.  Then  Miss 
Eliza  dropped  her  meat  on  the  floor ;  Shummy  run 
away  with  William’s  bone,  and  I  had  to  help  Miss 
Polly  on  her  seat.  Many  looks  were  exchanged  be¬ 
tween  Rally  and  myself ;  but  dinner  concluded,  and 
Mr.  Dilberry  having  great  science  in  music,  and  un¬ 
derstanding  a  variety  of  keys,  unscrewed  his  mouth 
from  its  usual  position,  and  informed  us,  that  he  had 
always  a  great  labour  in  finding  out  a  key  adapted  to 
his  voice,  but  having  taken  a  great  fancy  to  a  new  air 
he  had  heard  in  the  street,  he  would,  if  we  pleased? 
favour  us  with  a 


mathews’  invitations. 


25 


Song.— BUNCH  OF  KEYS. 

Air— “  The  Legacy .” 

A  lover,  one  night  serenaded  his  mistress, 

And  wish’d  very  much  the  fair  lady  to  see, 

But  some  how  or  other  his  mind  was  in  distress, 

For  she  was  locked  up,  and  he  hadn’t  the  key. 

She  sung  and  he  sung,  but  his  lot  it  ne’er  hast’ned, 
For  Cupid  resolved  his  blind  foe  just  to  be  ; 

The  girl  didn’t  hear  him,  the  door  remained  fast’ned, 
And  he  was  quite  mad  to  be  out  of  the  key. 

His  note  it  soon  fell,  and  his  heart  was  despairing ; 

He  swore  he  would  die,  and  he’d  then  be  laid  low  ; 
But  his  strain  at  that  moment  the  fair  lady  hearing, 
From  out  at  the  window  a  key  she  did  throw. 

His  voice  rose  on  high,  as  he  snatched  at  the  treasure, 
And  he  was  delighted, — yes,  very  like  me, 

For,  resembling  the  horn — I  say  it  with  pleasure, 

My  voice  it  has  pitch’d,  and  I’ve  found  out  the  key. 

After  thanking  Mr.  Dilberry,  his  eldest  daughter 
was  led  to  the  piano,  and  regaled  our  ears  for  half  an 
hour  with  a  brilliant  sonata,  something  after  this  style  ; 
(he  plays  one  of  the  first  lessons  in  a  most  curious 
manner) — and  this  was  succeeded  by  Master  P.  Bil¬ 
berry’s  excellent  performance  of  the  bacchanalian 
song  from  Der  Frieschutz,  accompanied  by  the 
praises  of  his  mamma.  (Here  Mr.  Mathews  retires 
behind  a  curtain,  and  the  stuffed  body  of  Master  P. 
appears.  Mr.  Mathews  gives  the  figure  a  head ,  and 
action  to  the  body ,  during  the  performance  of“R osy 
Wine.” 

On  Friday  I  was  invited  to  a  u  rouge  et  noir ”  table 
a"  one  of  the  fashionable  gambling-houses,  called 
Hells,  at  the  west  end  of  the  town  ;  and,  though  I  ab¬ 
hor  the  system,  still  curiosity  impelled  me  to  go,  and 
I  accepted  the  invitation.  What  a  medley  did  it  con¬ 
tain  :  within  its  petty  space  there  was  exhibited,  at  one 
view,  the  glance  of  exultation  and  the  frown  of  disap- 


26 


mathews’  invitations. 


pointment.  Many  a  heavy  heart  beat  under  a  gilded 
uniform,  and  many  a  smile  mocked  the  tears  ready  to 
intrude  from  the  sunken  eyelids  of  despair. 

I  remember  one  instance  in  particular  ;  ’twas  that 
of  a  young  man  from  the  North,  named  Harry  Ar- 
dourly,  born  to  a  good  estate,  and  possessed  of  all  the 
attributes  of  an  Englishman.  Fortune  led  him,  by 
some  unaccountable  freak  to  quit  the  bosom  of  his 
family,  and  seek  the  air  of  London.  I  met  him  at  this 
gambling-house  ;  he  sat  down,  his  bosom  expanding 
with  hilarity,  and  his  heart  opened  to  enjoyment  by 
the  sweets  of  independence.  His  Yorkshire  accent 
was  a  gilded  bit  to  lure  the  unoffending  victim  to  his 
ruin.  Game  after  game  was  won  by  the  unsuspect¬ 
ing  youth.  I  never  saw  him  look  handsomer.  The 
elegant  wines  had  even  given  his  complexion  a  rud¬ 
dier  glow,  and  he  sat  in  the  plenitude  of  his  good  for¬ 
tune,  snatching  up  the  sovereigns  as  dross  merely 
offered  for  his  pleasure.  Bets  were  taken  and  given, 
still  he  won.  (Here  Mr.  Mathews  gives  an  imitation 
of  Harry  at  the  gaming-table ,  giving,  taking ,  win¬ 
ning ,  and  then  he  bursts  out  into  a  view  hallo  !  The 
party  try  to  quiet  him ,  and  remind  him  of  the  police . 
He  don't  mind  the  police — he's  ready  with  another  five 
hundred  or  a  thousand.) 

At  length,  Harry  Ardourly  wins  seventeen  hundred 
pounds,  and  in  the  same  boisterous  strain  of  ecstacy 
leaves  the  place,  overjoyed  at  his  success,  to  seek  his 
pillow,  and  dream  of  honour,  wealth,  and  power. 

I  am  sorry  to  change  the  scene  ;  still  the  truth  must 
appear.  I  met  our  young  Yorkshireman  once  more; 
but  good  heavens !  how  altered !  his  cheeks  were 
pallid,  his  form  was  withered,  and  his  accent  was  all  I 
could  recognise  of  the  once  happy,  genuine,  and 
good-hearted  Harry  Ardourly,  Surprised,  I  modestly 
asked  the  cause  of  this  sad  reverse,  when  he  simply 
answered  me  thus 

Ah  !  Mr.  Mathews,  that  night —that  fatal  night  you 
met  me  at  the  gaming-house  has  stamped  me  as  a 
villain,  andl  live — I  live  a  memento  of  what  I  was  ! 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


2? 

O !  sir,  this  perturbed  conscience  can  never  meet  with 
rest  except  within  the  grave  ! 

Mr.  M.  But  your  estates - 

Ard.  My  estates  are  gone — all  gone  to  pay  what 
they  termed  my  debts  of  honour !  But  tell  me,  tell 
me,  Mr.  Mathews,  can  it  be  honour  to  drive  an  aged 
mother  into  grief  and  beggary  ?—  Can  it  be  honour  to 
deprive  two  darling  sisters  of  their  fortune,  and  rob 
them  of  happiness  for  ever  ?  Mr.  Mathews,  I  am  mise¬ 
rable  ;  and  this  breaking  heart  is  all  I  can  offer  to 
atone  for  my  villany  and  their  unjust  distress! 

I  bade  him  farewell,  feeling  as  every  man  should,  a 
detestation  for  the  authors  of  his  ruin.  My  heart  bled 
for  his  sufferings;  indeed — indeed  I  pitied  him. 

The  last  time  I  saw  him  was  in  a  receptacle  for  lu¬ 
natics.  His  sufferings  had  driven  him  mad :  the 
glance  of  a  maniac  shot  from  his  eye,  and  his  poor 
disfigureo  body  showed  the  misery  that  was  ravaging 
within.  He  raved,  gnashed  his  teeth,  and  exclaimed, 
as  on  the  fatal  night  that  first  began  his  woes,  ‘Yes, 
yes,  I  take  thee— two  hundred  on  the  red.  Ha!  Ha  ! 
— ye  change  them  !  ’Tis  mine ! — ’tis  mine  !  But  stop, 
my  mother  beckons!— my  poor  mother  beckons!  I 
come — I  come!  Do  not  die,  mother!  Sisters,  dear 
sisters!  we  must  be  rich.  No  no,— see,  all  is  swept 
away,  and  I  am  left  a  beggar !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  '.'—{Lay¬ 
ing  his  head  upon  the  table ,  weeping ,  and  drying  the 
tears  with  his  pocket-handkerchief.) 

If  I  have  deviated  from  my  common  line  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  have  succeeded  in  drawing  a  sigh  from 
the  bosom  of  sympathy,  my  hopes  are  repaid  ;  and  I 
trust  that  few,  very  few,  youths  of  the  present  day 
may  prove  as  unfortunate  as  poor  Harry  Ardourly. 

After  this,  according  to  invitation,  I  made  one  in  a 
party  to  visit  the  entertaining  scene  of  supporting  can¬ 
didates  under  the  ordeal  of  becoming  Members  of 
k  Parliament.  One  of  our  poets  says,  that  the  time  of 
an  election  is  madman’s  holyday  ;  and  I  cannot  better 
explain  it  than  by  introducing  you  to  the  clamour 
and  small  talk  of  an  election. 


28 


mAthews’  invitations. 


Song. — GENERAL  ELECTION. 

Air — 4  The  Downfall  of  Paris.' 

Now’s  the  time  for  fun  and  jollity, 

Flaming  speeches  and  frivolity  ; 

Great  and  small, 

They  one  and  all 

Are  to  the  hustings  straying. 

There’s  our  man — give  him  a  cheering  ; 

That’s  his  friend — give  him  a  hearing ! 

Come,  make  a  fuss, — 

Why,  he’s  for  us. 

Don’t  be  noisy  in  the  middle  there ; 

Silence,  that  man  that’s  got  the  fiddle  there! 
Pray  be  quiet, 

No  more  riot, — 

Have  done,  have  done  huzzaing. 

(Spoken.)  ‘Here’s  a  bill!  here’s  a  bill !’ — ‘What’s 
the  title  of  it  ?’ — ‘Blood  and  beef.’ — ‘Why,  what’s 
the  meaning  of  that  ?’ — ‘  I  don’t  know,  but  it’s  a  good 
title.’ — ‘  Look  here,  gentlemen,  look  here  :  blood  and 
beef — no  Larkins! — Humdrum  forever!’  ( Man  ivith 
a  cracked  voice.)  ‘Read  it,  if  your’e  able.’ — ‘Liberty 
and  independence  !’ — ‘  Order,  gentlemen,  and  hear 
this  bill. — (Elector  reads.)  Who  would  keep  the  poor 
in  the  workhouse  on  no  more  than  a  shilling  a  day  ? 
Larkins!  Who  monopolizes  all  the  table-beer  ?  Lar¬ 
kins  !  Who  shuts  up  his  cellar-doors  that  nobody  may 
go  there  but  himself?  Larkins!’ — ‘No  Larkins!’ — 
‘Mr.  High  Bailiff,  there’s  a  dead  cat  thrown  upon  the 
hustings.’ — ‘  Pray,  sir,  what  must  we  consider  that?’ 
6  A  poll  cat,  sir.’ — ‘  Here’s  a  new  bill — where’s  the 
printer  ?’ — ‘  He’s  gone  to  press  for  votes.’ — ‘Where’s 
his  boy  ?’ — ‘  I  saw  the  devil  upon  the  hustings  not  a 
moment  since.’ — ‘Where  the  devil  has  he  gone?’— 
‘  He’s  gone  to  see  that  nobody  picks  his  master’s 
pocket.’— -‘  How  shall  we  have  this  bill  printed — No 
small  beer?’ — ‘On  pot.’ — ‘No;  foolscap  won’t  be 
wasted  on  our  cause.  Supppose  we  have  some  red 
lines  round  it?’ — ‘  Why  so  ?’ — ‘  To  show  that  we  keep 
every  thing  within  compass.’ — ‘Now  let’s  have  a  show 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS, 


29 


of  hands.’ — ( Voices.)  ‘  A  show  of  hands  !  a  show  of 
hands l’ — ‘There,  there’s  a  show  of  hands!  Did  you 
ever  see  such  a  show  of  hands?’ — ‘I  never  saw  such 
a  show  of  dirty  hands.’ — ‘  Larkins  must  stand.  Yes, 
yes,  we  like  Larkins.’ — ‘No  Larkins!  Humdrum  for 
ever!  Huzza!’ 


Thus  their  noise  and  clamour  hearing, 

One  condemns,  another  cheering  ; 

One  would  shout 
The  other  out, — 

O!  the  joys  of  electioneering! 

Now  electors  fast  are  coming  here, — 

Some  are  fifing,  others  drumming  here  ;• 
Ribands  shaking, 

Speeches  making, 

Folks  stamp  themselves  notorious. 

Now  the  hustings  has  a  bumper  ; 

See,  they’re  bringing  many  a  plumper. 

I’m  bang  up  tight, 

Each  tax  is  right ; 

Don’t  you  wish  that  your’s  were  settled  so  ? 
Silence,  sir,  I  ne’er  was  nettled  so; 

You’d  some  friend 
His  aid  to  lend, 

That  makes  you  so  uproarious. 


(Spoken— (Child)  “If  you  please,  sir,  my  father 
says  he’d  come  to  vote  for  Mr.  Larkin’s ;  but  he’s 
got  no  hat.”-— “  No  hat !  What  shall  we  do  ?— can 
any  body  lend  him  one.”— “  Here,  my  little  boy,  take 
my  hat.”— “ Thank’ee  sir  (Gentleman)  “Mr. 
Larkins,  I  saw  that  hat ;  there’s  something  in  it  I 
don’t  like;  but  I  shall  notice  it  at  a  proper  time,  and 
in  a  proper  place.” — (Irish  Barrister  Botherem  ap¬ 
pears) — “  Silence  for  Botherem !  he  knows  how  to 
speak  !  Silence  for  Botherem !”— “  Gentlemen,  I 
gaze  upon  you  as  the  children  of  re-animated  nature, 
breathing  the  divine  breezes  of  the  odoriferous  hea¬ 
vens  that  surround  the  constellations  !  Ye  are  not  like 
Che  cold-blooded  regicides  that  overran  revolutionary 
C  2 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


30 


and  revolutionized  France,  with  the  region-like  blasts 
of  tempestuous  whirlwinds,  nor  the  fire-engendered 
war-brands  that  threw  the  snows  of  Russia  into  a 
thaw,  and  levelled  Moscow  in  the  imperceptible  ruin 
that  must  amalgate  the  wonder-stricken  senses  of 
admiring  nations,  from  Constantinople  to  the  Peak 
of  TenerifTe !  I  cannot  indulge  in  high-flown  lucu¬ 
brations,  when  I  am  speaking  to  men  who  know  all 
the  glorious  refulgences  of  indescribable  humanity 
in  a  more  classical  and  legislative  capacity  than  any 
that  ever  graced  the  Medes,  the  Persians,  the  Scan¬ 
dinavians,  or  the  Phoenicians  ;  therefore  I  will  with 
modesty  confine  myself  to  this  glorious  consumma¬ 
tion,  that  every  natural  generation  should  live  with¬ 
out  aggravation,  under  every  deprivation,  and  never 
suffer  themselves  tobe  annihilated  by  the  simultaneous 
obnoxious,  deteriorating,  and  abominable  combination 
of  incendiaries, who  accumulate  but  to  separate  and  de¬ 
generate  those  who  should  never  be  inanimate.(J5rai;o.) 
— And,  my  countrymen !  hear  me,  and  don’t  be 
blind !  If  I  could  mount  the  winged  horse  Pegasus, 
I  would  fly  over  mount  Helicon,  and  travel  the  land 
of  Egypt,  to  emancipate  and  elucidate  all  that  can 
reverberate  to  substantiate  the  emaculation  of  all  that 
puts  you  dt  present  in  a  consternation.  So,  gentle¬ 
men,  as  our  immortal  poet  says,  brevity  is  the  soul  of 
wit,  I’ll  give  you  a  quotation  : 

“Vote  for  Larkins!” 

“  Bravo,  Larkins !  what  a  clever  fellow  !  Huzza  ?” 
— “  I  say,  Mr.  Botherem,  you  told  me  this  morning 
you  would  vote  for  Humdrum.”— “  Well,  sir,  surely  a 
man  has  a  right  to  change  his  mind  once  a  day  if  he 
pleases.”—1 “  I  suppose,  sir,  you  never  received  a  pre¬ 
sent  of  game  from  Mr.  Larkins  “  Sir,  I  never 
received  the  most  trifling  favour  from  Mr.  Larkins, 
with  the  exception  of  one  little  hare,  and  that  was  so 
high  I  could  not  eat  it.”  “  Bribery  and  corruption  !” 

This  their  noise,  &c. 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS,  Sfl 

Carts  and  cabriolets  they’re  rolling  it ; 

See,  the  freemen  now  are  polling  it ; 

All  is  flurry, 

Hurry,  scurry, 

Squeezing,  shouting,  fighting. 

Some  aie  speaking  up  for  freedom  ; 

Others  bawl,  and  will  not  heed  ’em. 

’Tis  honour’s  cause, 

The  king  and  laws. 

I’ll  be  stanch  against  the  minister, 

For  my  motives  are  not  sinister. 

This  scene  to-day, 

I’m  sure  you’ll  say, 

It  is,  it  is  delighting. 

(Spoken)  ‘Now,  now  read  Humdrum’s  bill,’— ~ 
( Elector  reads)  ‘  No  bullock’s  liver  ! — there’s  an 
elegant  title.’  ‘No  Humdrum?’ — ( Continues  to 
read)  ‘Who  monopolizes  all  the  salt?’ — ‘  Hum¬ 
drum  !’— ‘  Who  has  set  up  in  opposition  to  the  wash- 
erwemen  ?, — ‘  Humdrum  !  No  Humdrum  !’—‘  Who 
sat  in  the  house,  and  never  made  no  speech  for  six 
years  ? — Humdrum  1’ — ‘  No  Humdrum  !’ — ‘  I  say, 
Mr.  Poll  Clerk,  I  shall  not  promise  to  vote  for  Mr. 
Humdrum,  unless  he  promises  to  say,  ‘No,’ when¬ 
ever  the  ministers  say  ‘  Yes.’— ( Gets  a  blow  on  the  ear.) 
---Somebody  has  given  me  a  cracker.’— ‘ No,  sir; 
it’s  only  an  electioneering  squib.’ — ‘  Silence !  Si¬ 
lence  for  Mr.  Boreen.’— ( Boreen  speaks)  ‘  Gentle¬ 
men,  I  rise  up  for  the  purpose  of  depiessing  upon 
your  minds  that  I  am  standing  up  in  the  most  manful- 
like  manner  that  an  Englisman  slibuld  stand.  You 
all  know  that  you  are  Englishmen,  because  you  was 
born  in  England.  Oh!  then  look  at  your  children, 
and  transplant  them  in  your  imaginary  imaginations, 
for  they  are  the  tender  plants  that  intercede  all  the 
dry  substances  of  your  souls,  and  moisten  all  the 
horizontal  heats  that  burn  in  your  bosoms,  like  the 
raging  ackenox  in  North  America.  Look  at  this, 
and  be  me !  I  don’t  come  here  not  to  say  nothing, 
as  a  great  many  other  people  dbes,  that’s  always  a 


MATHfcWS*  INVITATIONS* 


talking.  I  likes  to  say  little,  and  to  no  purpose  ne¬ 
vertheless  ;  but  look  to  your  wives;  I  know  you’re 
in  the  habits  of  dressing  ’em  as  I  is  my  wife— (voice, 
no  insinuations)— and  it’s  right  every  man  should 
dress  his  wife  with  proper  indiscretion,  whether  he  can 
or  no.  I  loves  my  wife;  every  body  loves  my  wife, 
and  I  say  woman  is  the  most  innocuUte  being  on 
the  face  of  the  earth  or  any  other  country.  I  live  at 
my  country  house.  Stick  to  the  laws,  for  the  laws 
are  the  bullocks  of  our  country,  and  there  was  never 
no  man  what  din’t  understand  the  laws,  that  knew 
nothing  about  ’em  ;  so,  if  you  wish  to  be  independent, 
vote  for  Humdrum,  and  it  will  be  better  nor  £10,000 
a  year  for  you  all  ;  for  if  we  were  all  to  be  members  of 
Parliament  in  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  House 
of  Lords,  what  a  number  of  speakers  we  should 
have,  and  the  house  would  be  too  large  to  contain  us 
all.  So  vote  for  Humdrum,  the  friend  of  Mie  people 
and  strong  beer.’ — ‘Bravo!  Bravo!’ — ‘I  say,  who 
has  won  ?’ — ‘  I  don’t  know — do  you,  sir  ?’ — ‘  Yes, 
both,  so  they’re  going  to  try  ii  over  again,  to  find  out 
the  conqueror.’ — ‘And  who  pays  for  the  hustings?’ 
— ‘  Those  who  can  find  most  money  ;  but  if  the  can¬ 
didates  don’t,  John  Bull  must.’ 

Thus  their  noise,  &lc. 

On  Saturday  I  received  my  last  invitation  for  the 
week,  to  join  an  aquatic  expedition  on  the  Thames. 
And,  as  monopoly  is  the  general  order  of  the  day,  I 
will  myself  endeavour  to  monopolize  a  little  of  your 
attentions,  by  describing  my  excursion  in  a  little  en¬ 
tertainment  I  shall  lay  before  you,  when  the  loves  of 
Miss  Georgina  Gritts,  combined  with  that,  and  the 
jealousy  of  Mr.  Gibletts  and  Mr.  Sassafras,  will  form 
the  principal  features  in  the  performance  ;  therefore, 
for  a  few  moments,  I  shall  take  my  leave  in  a — 
FINALE. 

Adieu,  kind  friends,  I’m  your’s  the  same, 

Ah  !  yes,  the  same  as  ever ; 

Old  death  must  leave  me  but  the  name, 

If  1  forget  you  ever. 


MATHEWS’  INVITATIONS. 


S3 

SHAKELT. 

I’ve  got  a  pain  across  my  back. 

SIR  B.  BLANCMANGE. 

My  very  heart  is  on  the  rack. 

With  die  away,  sigh  away, 

So  horrible  horrible,  and  terrible  terrible. 
But  never  mind  what  Pain  may  say, 

And  all  her  sad  relations, 

I’ll  smile  if  you’ll  agree  to  pay 
And  see  my  u  Invitations.” 

SKELTER. 

I’ve  wandered  over  ev’ry  land, 

But  found  my  hopes  disjointed  » 

I  never  yet  could  understand 
Why  I’in  so  disappointed. 

DILBERRT. 

I’m  Dilberry,  who  dried  the  cork. 

PETER. 

And  I  am  Peter  come  from  York. 

We’re  drearily,  wearily,  cherrily,  merrily. 
But  never  mind,  fee. 

POPPER. 

Oh,  if  you  please,  I’ll  only  say, 

That  I  am  Mr.  Popper : 

I  always  s^out  false  tales  away, 

And  tell  you  what  is  proper. 

But  now  I  say,  my  friends,  adieu, 

I’m  very  much  obliged  to  you  5 
Though  we’re  wearily,  he. 


YATES*  REMINISCENCES 


You  most  of  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  at  free- 
school ;  a  life  of  sky-blue,  red  knuckles,  and  black 
eyes ;  much  of  that  dangerous  thing,  a  little  learning  ; 
and  much  pecuniary  difficulty  in  the  apple-market.  I 
did  as  most  others  did,  I  tore  the  covers  off  my  Virgil, 
and  borrowed  a  shilling  of  Mother  Clayton,  with  a 
promise  to  pay  the  next  holidays.  Here  I  became 
acquainted  with  a  character,  Old  Nathaniel,  a  literary 
cobbler,  who  always  described  himself  as  4  belonging 
to  the  Charter-house.’ — but  his  appearance  and  man¬ 
ners  are  so  eccentric,  that  I  must  shew  him  to  you  as 
he  was,  [Presses  as  the  old  cobbler]  he  was  something 
like  this,  and  thus  he  sat.  4  Hey  well,  what  is  school 
over  eh  ?  come  my  boys,  ah  Master  Y.  how  do,  Mas¬ 
ter  Y.  P  young  Yates,  wipe  your  nose  my  dear  boy, 
stand  out  of  my  light  Master  Y.  your  left  sole  is  much 
degenerated  towards  the  heel,  master  Y.’  4  That’s 

because  I  have  not  stood  upon  my  right  leg  since  I 
came  to  the  Charter-house.’  4  Eh,  what  ?  Charter 
— that’s  wrong,  Carter-house ,  from  the  great  Magna 
Charta  ;  Master  Traveller,  stand  out  of  my  light.’ 
4  Ah  Nathaniel,  do  you  use  bristles  in  making  shoes?’ 
"Yes,  Mast.  T.,  Caterhouse  shoes.  Mast.  T.  Mast. 
V.  Mast.  G.  Mast.  R.  Mast.  S.  take  your  five  heads 
out  of  the  aper-to-ry,  and  make  darkness  visible,  as 
Mr.  Milton  the  oyster-man  has  it ;  put  down  the 
hammer  will  you,  Mast.  Y.  what  do  you  tease  me  so 
for  eh  ?  Such  was  old  Nathaniel,  of  the  Charter¬ 
house,  a  thorough  marskman  at  Grammar  ;  but  he  is 
gone, — peace  to  this  ashes. 

It  happened  to  me,  as  I  dare  say  it  does  to  many 
here,  to  have  a  second  cousin,  whose  relationship  is 


36 


yates’  reminiscences. 


allowed  or  not,  according  to  circumstances;  our  family 
always  called  him  Mr.  Damper  Yates,  our  second  cou¬ 
sin  ;  he  was  rather  inclined  to  years,  the  only  thing 
he  ever  did  incline  to;  he  had  something  considera¬ 
ble  in  the  old  Fours,  was  unmarried  and  unincum¬ 
bered  ;  he  wore  his  own  hair,  naturally  white,  full 
charged  with  powder,  and  tied  with  a  black  ribbon, 
along  tail  hanging  down  his  back  like  an  ebony  pump 
handle  tipt  with  silver  ;  and  a  stock  tight  enough 
round  his  neck  to  give  him  a  ruddy  complexion  : 
he  had  a  habit  of  shutting  his  eyes  to  see  the  worst  of 
a  thing.  Being  left  together  one  evening,  the  fol¬ 
lowing  bit  of  life  was  hit  off  between  us.  [ dresses 
as  Mr.  Damper]  ‘Well,  young  Yates,  well,  what 
are  you  thinking  of  as  to  life,  eh  ?  you  are  shockingly 
grown  up.’  ‘I  don’t  know  what  you  mean,  sir.’  ‘Eh, 
I  suppose  you  think  you  are  always  to  go  to  school.’ 
‘Why  sir,  what  profession  would  you  advise?’  ‘No 
sir  ;  Profession  indeed  !  hate ’m  all  three — preaching , 
persecuting ,  and  poisoning ;  that  will  never  do,  sir.’ 
‘  Well  sir,  what  do  you  think  of  the  sea  ?  ‘  The  sea, 

sir — the  d — 1,  sir,  oh,  no,  no,  Midshipman  at  40.’ 
‘  The  army,  sir  ?’  ‘  Worse  and  worse;  long  duels,  black 
stock  all  the  morning,  carrying  a  flag  when  you  are 
grey— oh  no,  sir,  eh  !’  ‘  Well  sir,  what  do  you  think 
of  a  Commissary,  sir?’  ‘A  Drommedary ,  sir,  carry¬ 
ing  other  people’s  provision  ;  pots  and  pans,  no  sir, 
eh  ?’  ‘Well  sir,  what  shall  I  take  to,  shall  I  take  to 
nothing  !’  ‘  No  sir,  that  market’s  overstocked  already 
— nothing— ^no  I  see  nothing  in  nothing.’  ‘Well, 
therb  is  but  one  thing  more  sir,  what  think  you  of — 
of — ’  ‘  Of  what,  sir  ?’  ‘  The  stage,  sir.’  ‘  The  stage, 
sir,  what  a  cad — drive  the  Kensington  ?  no  sir,  no 
sir,  no,  eh!’  ‘No  sir,  not  the  coach,  the  theatrical 
line,  sir.’  ‘The  pickpocket  line,  sir — the  gallows — 
doing  the  deceitful  at  85.  per  week — plenty  of  paint 
and  no  pay,  making  a  cork  model  of  yourself,  sir — 
half  starved  without  having  the  consolation  of  know¬ 
ing  which  half.’ 

He  was  always  called  upon  to  decide,  yet  never 


YATES’  REMINISCENCES. 


37 


did  decide,  but  quietly  threw  his  little  bucket  of  cold 
water  on  every  thing  proposed.  His  remarks  had  the 
same  effect  on  me,  that  a  parish  engine  has  on  a 
large  fire,  served  to  make  it  blaze  the  fiercer. 

At  this  time  I  entered  into  the  Commissariat;  but 
previous  to  going  abroad,  I  was  invited  by  a  kind 
friend  to  go  to  masquerade,  and  it  was  settled  that  I 
should  do  so  in  the  character  of  Somno:  got  my 
dress  all  ready,  went  properly  equipt,  candle  in  hand, 
night-capon  head,  cloth  on  my  arm,  quite  complete  ; 
at  first  I  ran  myself  into  a  little  disgrace  by  ramming 
my  candle  into  the  face  of  a  Harlequin,  and  treading 
upon  the  train  of  the  Muses,  but  I  got  on  tolerably 
well,  till  at  length  the  real  Somno  came,  ‘  in  the  habit 
as  he  lived.’ — iWe  were  inseparable  for  the  remainder 
of  the  evening,  enjoying  the  variegated  pleasures  of 
the  scene  together,  which  allow  me  to  describe  to  you 
in  a  song : 

MASQUERADING. 

Come  now  my  merry  men, 

We  may  never  meet  again, 

The  Masquerade’s  begun, 

We  shall  lose  half  the  fun  ; 

Those  who  feel  a  passion 
To  be  in  tip-top  fashion, 

They  should  not  want  much  persuading. 

Slack  rope — there’s  a  Pope, 

Queen  of  hearts — flames  and  darts, 
Skeletons — Spanish  Dons-*- 
Ladies  free — drinking  tea, 

Light  \n  sockets — hands  in  pockets, 

All’s  right — what  a  night, 

Push  on,  drive  on  through  th:s  motley  scene  of  fun, 
Who  on  earth  would’nt  go  Masquerading, 

Come  stroll  along  with  me, 

We’ll  see  who  we  can  see  ; 

No  one  his  neighbour  knows, 

Tho’  he  treads  upon  his  toes  ; 

D 


38 


YATES’  REMINISCENCES. 


E’en  your  tailor  there  can’t  tell 
You  from  another  swell, 

When  in  domino  or  character  parading. 

Man  m  armour — blushing  charmer, 

Pan  and  Pinto — eating  fruit  O, 

Apollo  Nisa-—  taking  ice  a, 

Prosperoso — drinking  so-so, 

Noise  and  Riot — nothing  quiet, 

Pushing,  driving — ail  a  striving, 
Running,  falling — ladies  squalling, 

Push  on,  drive  on,  in  this  motley  scene  of  fun, 
Who  on  earth  would’nt  go  Masquerading. 

Now  let  us  go  to  supper, 

In  the  lower  room  or  tipper  ; 

Nothing’s  here,  I  tell  ye, 

But  oranges  and  jelly  ; 

I  think  I  am  a  ninny, 

To  be  giving  half  a  guinea, 

Such  a  supper  as  this  is  degrading. 

Knife  and  fork — draw  the  cork, 

Beauty  bright — candle  light, 

Charley  Wright — a  merry  wight, 
Sandwich  nice — Vauxhall  slice, 

Supper  o’er — what  a  bore, 

Pay  the  score — wish  for  more, 

Cash  runs  low — forc’d  to  go, 

Push  on,  drive  on,  in  this  motley  scene  of  fun, 

Sure  the  actors  are  all  Masquerading. 

The  Masquerade  had  the  usual  effect  upon  me,  and 
as  I  was  sitting  next  morning  at  a  late  breakfast,  who 
should  walk  in  but  the  Sumno  of  the  previous  evening. 
He  came  in  light  of  heart  and  restless  in  his  person  ; 
a  little  fidgetty,  but  not  a  little  humerous;  little,  in¬ 
deed,  did  I  think,  that  my  future  plans  of  life  would 
be  affected  by  this  very  visit ;  he  was  kind  and  spoke 
flattering;  dangerous  flattery  to  me.  You  have  seen 
my  friend,  you  know  him,  you  must  have  seen  him, 
he  is  taller  than  I  am,  yet  the  world  have  said  I  am 


YATES’  REMINISCENCES. 


39 


occasionally  like  him.  (Imitation  of  Mathews)  4  How 
do — glad  to  see  you — -pretty  well,  hey;  I  was  very 
much  amused  with  you  last  night,  very  much.  Your 
imitations  were  very  good,  very  good  indeed,  they 
were,  ’pon  my  life — Fawcett  was  very  like;  Kembie 
very  good  ;  but  there  was  one  thing  in  which  you 
failed,  yes,  you  did,  total  failure.’  4  What  was  that, 
sir?’  4  Your  imitation  of  me  :  I  know  I’m  a  difficult 
study  ;  no  man  in  the  world  can  imitate  me.’  4  Well, 
then,  (said  I)  it  is  well  for  me  that  I  don’t  intend  go¬ 
ing  on  the  stage.’  4  Mi !  if  is  all  very  well  for  you  to 
say  you  don’t  intend ;  take  my  word  for  it,  you’ll  be 
an  actor — take  my  word  for  it,  you  will,  one  of  these 
days,  come  to  the  theatrical  drop;  you  will,  you  may 
depend.’  4 You  are  mistaken  indeed,  said  I;  lam 
going  to  join  the  Commissariat.’  4  Ah  !  it’s  all  very 
well  for  yon  to  say  so  ;  but  depend  upon  it,  you  will 
leave  feeding  starved  soldiers,  to  enlist  yourself  into 
a  starving  company.  Adieu  ;  remember  what  I  say, 
you’ll  be  an  actor. 

I  shortly  after  this  joined  the  army  ;  where  I  was, 
as  my  cousin  Damper  would  always  call  it,  a  drome¬ 
dary  for  the  space  of  three  years.  I  was  at  the  Battle 
of  Waterloo,  and  I  would  that  I  could  relate  to  you 
some  anecdotes  of  that  great  and  glorious  triumph  ; 
but  as  we  are  not  met  here  to  be  melancholy, 4  if  you 
have  tears’  you  need  not  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
Soon  after  my  return  home,  I  agreed  to  accompany 
my  friend  on  an  expedition  to  France  to  try  the  effect 
of  an  entertainment,  for  the  first  time,  something  si¬ 
milar  to  the  one  I  have  now  the  honour  to  perform. 
Previous,  however,  to  my  trip,  1  became  acquainted 
with  a  character,  Mr.  Felix  Fa*'t ;  he  was  something 
like  Tilburina’s  papa  in  the  Critic ,  always  understood 
every  thing  literally  as  spoken  :  he  always  wore  a  lit¬ 
tle  brown  wig,  under  which  his/  little  round  cosy  face 
was  reposing  in  a  state  of  unmeaning  vacancy  :  when¬ 
ever  a  metaphor  on  a  word  of  three  syllables  was 
started,  he  would  stare  in  a  state  of  utter  amazement 
and  incomprehension.  Romances  he  said  he  Gould 


40 


YATES’  REMINISCENCES. 


not  understand ;  he  had  read  Gay’s  Fables  and  did 
not  believe  them.  He  was  the  very  man  who  said  he 
was  glad  to  hear  they  were  going  to  canvass  the  Boro’ 
because  he  had  been  twice  wet  through)  between  Too- 
ley-street  and  the  Town-hall  ;  and  having  once  read 
in  the  newspapers  that  a  fleet  of  Indiamen  had  got 
out  of  dock  and  had  dropt  down  the  river,  he  said  it 
was  a  great  pity,  and  hoped  that  by  the  diving  bells 
their  cargoes  would  he  saved  :  he  never  ventured  to 
come  near  the  Stock  Exchange,  for  fear  of  the  bulls 
and  the  bears, and  wondered  the  Lord  Mayor  allowed 
such  wild  beasts  in  the  city*  He  was  now  at  Dover) 
Hvhere  he  had  gone  to  see  whether  there  really  was  a 
sea,  and  whether  it  was  salt.  ( Imitation  of  Fact 
tasting  the  water  and  picking  up  a  large  pebble.) 

Mr.  Fact  returned  to  the  inn  and  dined  with  us: 
next  morning,  on  the  Dover  coach  driving  up,  I  ex¬ 
claimed,  4  What  on  earth  can  he  be  about  ?  what  can 
have  brought  him  here  ?’  4  Him,  who  f?  4  Why  that 

original  there,  next  to  the  little  black  boy  on  the  roof*’ 
4  A  black  boy  on  the  roof,  I  should  like  to  see  him  ; 
oh,  a  young  chimney  sweeper  tumbled  out  of  the  pot, 
I  suppose.’  4  No,  I  mean  that  Valentine  and  Orson 
looking  man,  with  a  white  plush  jacket  and  fur  cap 
on  ;  do  you  know  we  went  to  school  together.’  4  No  ! 
he  never  went  to  school,  I’m  sure  ;  he  was  bred  upon 
Highgate  Common,  and  fed  upon  white  mustard  seed.’ 
4^True,  I  assure  you  ;  he  studied  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  was  long  boat  mad  before  he  was  16  years  of  age. 
What,  Tom  Traveller  ?’  4  Ah  !  my  Fred,  how  are 

you,  where  are  you  going  ?’  4  I’m  going  to  Paris, 

said  l.’  4  So  am  T ;  I’m  outward  bound  too;  going 

abroad  in  search  of  a  desert  island.’  4  What,  Robin¬ 
son  Crusoe  yet  Tom,  eh  P’  4  Yes,  fur  shoes  in  my 
trunk,  and  a  large  umbrella  ;  all  for  the  island  ;  see, 
here’s  a  Dolland,  a  real  good  one  ;  there’s  a  glass.’ 

4  Why,  what’s  that  for  ?’  4  Don’t  you  know  ?  why  to 

look  at  the  natives  ;  see ’em  eat  a  Good  Friday.’ 

4  Eat  a  Good  Friday  !  well,  I  declare  I  should  like  to 
know  how  that  is  done.’ 


YATES’  BEMINISCENCES. 


41 


Fact  and  Traveller  both  offered  to  join  the  party, 
which,  of  course,  we  of  the  Drams.  Pers.  did  not 
object  to,  as  we  were  now  attended  by  our  Fact  and 
our  Fiction ,  the  two  grahd  requisites  for  romance. 

As  we  were  going  to  the  Packet,  Tom  regretted 
he  had  not  been  able  to  meet  with  a  second  hand  Ca¬ 
noe,  altho’  he  had  searched  all  Brokers’-row.  On 
board  my  attention  was  attracted  to  one  of  the  very 
few  hands  on  board,  a  fine  old  Jack  tar  in  his  blues, 
with  the  seams  nicely  pitched  against  the  weather, 
with  a  liberal  display  of  bronze,  wrist  and  throat; 
who  was  hauling  in  a  rope,  and  ejaculating  at  every 
haul  ;  Mr.  Fact  placed  his  thumbs  behind  him,  and 
stared  with  stupid  astonishment.  Tom  admired  his 
fur  cap,  it  would  do  capital,  he  said  for  the  Island. 
(palling  in  the  rope.)  Yoe  !  ho,  come  along  wid 
you,  yeo  !  ho,  you  devil,  you  want  more  pulling  than 
you  are  worth — there’s  no  end  to  you,  like  Doyle’s 
Lectures.  Yeo!  ho,  faith  I  think  the  other  end  of 
you  is  tied  to  the  North  Pole — ah  !  you  great  sea  sar- 
pent,  has  your  mother  any  more  of  you — oh  !  you  de¬ 
vil,  I’ve  found  you  out,  some  one  has  cut  off  the  other 
end  of  ye.  On  the  deck  were  two  gentlemen  walk¬ 
ing  backwards,  pretending  not  to  be  sick,  the  rest  of 
the  company  were  below,  like  rich  old  noblemen, 
casting  up  their  accounts  and  settling  with  the  stew¬ 
ard.  At  length  we  took  in  our  Pilot,  not  Ttrry,  and 
shortly  landed  at  Boulogne,  and  commenced  our  en¬ 
tertainment;  I  say  we ,  on  the  principle  of  the  organ 
blower,  as  I  took  the  money  at  the  doors,  and  played 
Fustian  in  Sylvester  Daggerwood,  being  my  first  ap¬ 
pearance  on  the  stage  in  character.  Traveller  wish¬ 
ed  us  to  get  up  Robinson  Crusoe,  because,  as  he 
said,  Fact  would  make  an  excellent  old  Canibal,  but 
he  protested  “  he  had  never  made  one  in  all  his  life.” 
While  we  were  at  Boulogne,  we  made  up  a  party  to 
visit  old  Joe  Kelly,  jovial  Joe,  whom,  many  here  no 
doubt  knew  ;  he  was  at  that  time  suffering  a  martyr¬ 
dom  to  his  old  complaint  the  gout;  we  knocked  at 
the  door,  was  admitted  to  his  bed-room,  myself  first; 

F)  2 


At  VATES*  REMINISCENCES* 

the  rest  following  with  ludicrous  tip-toe  caution, 
( Imitation  of  Irish  Joe  Kelly)  Walk  in  gentlemen  ; 
Worry  git  out  you  divil :  this  was  addressed  to  a  little 
shaggy  dog,  a  tiny  little  thing,  like  a  child’s  muff, 
With  short  legs,  and  two  blear  eyes,  of  different  co¬ 
lors,  who  at  every  motion  in  the  room  would  jump 
backwards  and  forwards  over  Kelly’s  great  toe,  much 
to  his  annoyance.  i  Walk  in,  gentlemen,  why  by  the 
powers  there  is  four  of  ye — you’d  make  a  nice  rub¬ 
ber — Josephine,  Josephine— No,  no,  said  I,  Joe,  we 
have  only  called  to  see  how  you  did— -Why,  what’s 
the  matter  with  yotir  side,  said  I,  yon  seem  to  have 
lost  an  eye !  ‘Lost  what!  no  divil  a  thing  have  I 
lost ;  I  have  not  touched  a  card  these  (bur  days  the 
streets  being  strewed  with  bricks  and  tiles,  the  effects 
of  last  night’s  storm  ;  I  remarked,  your  friend  the 
devil,  Joe,  has  been  very  busy  during  the  night,  my 
boy.  “  Faith  I’ll  tell  you  how  it  is,  the  devil  has  mar* 
ried  his  daughter  to  a  bricklayer,  and  not  having,  any 
ready  monby  by  him,  he  is  raising  the  wind  on  some 
of  his  houses. 

We  left  Joe  Kelly  a  victim  to  the  gout,  wine,  and 
music,  and  took  our  departure  for  England :  we 
shortly  came  in  sight  of  Dover,  ships  riding  at  an* 
chor ;  and  in  the  joy  of  the  moment,  we  both  ex* 
claimed,  huzza  for  the  wooden  walls  of  England.—* 
Tom  Traveller,  we  left  on  his  way  to  Paris,  in  search 
of  his  infernal  Desert  Island  ;  Mr.  Fact’s,  adieus 
wet'e  worthy  of  himself.  “  Good  bye— I’ve  been 
highly  delighted — very  pleasant  trip — adieu;  but  I 
have  been  much  disappointed  this  morning  in  look¬ 
ing  for  the  wooden  walls  of  old  England,  I  can’t 
find  them,  but  I  suppose  they  have  been  pulled 
down*” 

Arrived  in  London,  I  parted  with  my  kind  friend  ; 
his  last  words  to  me  were  “  adieu,  Fred,  you’ll  be  an 
actor,  lake  my  word  for  It  ;  remember  me,  adieu.”  I 
shortly  after  came  out  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre, 
and  the  following  summer  was  engaged  to  give  an 
entertainment  at  Vauxhall  Gardens  5  but  unfortu* 


YATES*  REMINISCENCES.  43 

v 

nately,  one  morning  as  1  was  rehearsing  it,  to  Mr. 
Fact  who  had  come  to  town  on  purpose,  and  a  full 
meeting  of  untrimmed  lamps,  one  of  the  boards  of 
the  temporary  stage  broke  down,  and  my  leg  follow¬ 
ed  the  example,  and  I  was  borne  away,  not  on  the  tide 
of  popular  favour^  but  on  a  shutter :  but  as  I  brought 
away  a  brief  description  of  the  Gardens,  I  shall  now 
take  the  liberty  of  repeating  them. 

EVENING  AT  VAUXHALL. 

Hey  for  Vauxhall !  the  moon  is  rising  bright  to* 
night, 

The  water  now  is  smooth,  and  all  is  clear : 

Now  is  your  time,  if  you  wish  to  see  a  glorious  sight ; 

A  sight  for  three  and  sixpence  you  can’t  think  dear. 
From  London  Bridge  to  Vauxhall,  the  watermen  are 
pulling  O, 

From  Richmond,  too,  there’s  not  a  few,  now  the  boats 
they’re  filling  O  ! 

Row  brothers  row,  the  bridges  soon  are  left  behind, 
Now’s  your  time  to  pull  away,  the  entrances  arc  ra* 
ther  dark 

That’s  leading  to  this  show,  this  wonderful  this  bril¬ 
liant  place  ; 

Such  a  place  as  this  was  never  known. 

Now  Mr.  D.  my  love,  as  we  have  orders,  if  we  are 
to  enjoy  the  evening,  let  us  get  there  before  the  doors 
are  open,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Fact  will  accompany  us- — 
With  all  my  heart,  if  there’s  room  for  one.  Suppose, 
my  love,  as  there  is  seven  of  us  all  together,  that  we 
have  a  chariot.  No,  my  dear,  a  boat,  a  boat  as  the 
tide  is  running  up  to  Vauxhall,  that  will  be  just  the 
thing,  won’t  it  Mr.  Fact-1— Running  up,  why  as  I  am 
not  much  of  a  pedestrian,  I  can’t  say.  Well,  come, 
come  along  now.  Where’s  my  cocked  hat  P  I  al¬ 
ways  wears  my  cocked  hat  when  I  goes  to  Vauxhall. 
Now  my  love,  where’s  your  thin  shoes?  tight ;  now 
the  opera  glass,  right ;  now  the  paper  of  sandwiches, 
right ;  now  the  key  of  the  door,  right ;  now  the  oran¬ 
ges,  right ;  now  the  orders,  all  right — no\y  then  come 


44 


YATES7  REMINISCENCES. 


along.  Boat  your  honour — Boat,  sir,  mine’s  a  wery 
nice  wherry  your  honour.  My  dear  love,  do  oblige 
me  by  taking  that  good  looking  young  man,  with  a 
brass  badge  on  his  arm,  and  his  coat  gathered  full 
round  the  flaps;  he  seems  quite  superior  to  his  race 
— Ihope  we  shall  have  no  racing — (Child)  Be  quiet 
Keziah,  controul  yourself  my  son  ;  what’s  the  matter 
— Only  I’m  s-o  happy — Goon  Waterman — Jem,  help 
the  deputy  in. — Yes  ;  he’s  like  an  elephant  stepping 
into  a  butteiboat.  What’s  that  place — Cumberland 
gardens,  inarm.  Bless  me  its  quite  a  ruin.  Yes 
rnarm,  there’s  been  a  shocking  fire,  and  all  the  Sun¬ 
day  crockery  was  barnt  to  the  ground.  Any  thing 
else.  No  marm,  mtre-ly  a  barrel  horgan.  What  a 
pity,  I  suppose  the  engines  did  not  know  how  to  play 
upon  it.  Now  then  pay  here,  pay  here.  No  sir,  we 

don’t  pay  here,  for  I  have  got - ( feeling  in  his 

pocket,  agitated)  why  surely  I  have  forgot - 

What,  my  love  ;  the  oranges  ?  Worse  than  that. 
The  sandwiches  ?  Worse.  The  key  of  the  door? 
Worse  than  that,  I  have  forgot  the  orders;  why  you 
must  have  them  Mr.  Fact.  No,  I  have  nothing  in  my 
pocket  but  a  last  year’s  almanac,  a  pocket  handker¬ 
chief,  and  one  glove.  Well,  what’s  to  be  done  ?  Why 
we  must  pay,  I  suppose  ;  how  many  are  there,  1,  2, 
3,  4,  5,  6,  7  of  us;  I  say  Mr.  Moueytaker,  do  you 
charge  full  price  for  the  little  ones?  Yes,  sir.  Well 
that’s  very  odd,  for  they  are  not  grown  up;  never 
mind,  there’s  the  money  and  now  go  on.  How  dark 
it  is — I  don’t  see  any  thing.  Turn  to  the  right.  I 
can’t  see.  Now  to  the  left.  Oh  cri  !  now  I  see,  how 
beautiful  ;  what  a  seven  wonders  of  the  world,  lamps, 
music,  boxes,  ladies  and  all. 

All  in  this  show,  this  wonderful,  this  brilliant 
place, 

Such  a  place,  &c. 

Sure  such  a  night,  so  brilliant  and  so  shining  O, 

Such  a  night  as  this  was  never  seen  ; 

Things  are  so  gay,  beyond  all  arts  designing  O, 


YATES’  REMINISCENCES. 


45 


All  nature  seems  to  be  enchanted  round  about. 

The  illuminations  in  ail  stations,  so  bright  to  the  sight 
that  is ; 

While  the  rockets  from  their  sockets,  round  about 
your  head  do  rise  ; 

Rotunda’s  gardens,  and  dark  walk  where  ladies  may 
retire  in  ; 

Shades  so  dark,  with  a  young  spark,  if  they  be  afraid 
of  firing. 

Well  I’m  so  happy,  sure  this  must  be  a  paradise  in 
miniature.  -  No  macro,  in  Kennington  lane.— Father, 
what’s  that  place  up  there  ? — That’s  the  orchestra: 
now  come  keep  all  together. — My  dear,  who  is  that 
reading  the  newspaper  by  lamp  light? — That’s 
Charles  Taylor — what  an  interesting  young  man.-- 
My  love,  I  wish  you  would  wear  your  cocked  hat 
longways  and  not  broadways,  at  present  one  end  is  in 
my  eye,  and  the  other  in  Mrs.  Carry  ways.— Well, 
my  love,  any  thing  to  be  agreeable,  (bell)  What’s 
that. — That’s  the  Indian  juggler.  Well,  I  declare,  I 
should  like  to  see  him,  it  is  astonishing  the  dexterity 
he  handles  the  three  golden  balls  with. — Pooh !  it’s 
only  a  pawnbroker  unbending  himself.  Come  my 
love,  go  on,  here’s  Needle  the  tailor  coming.  Which 
is  he. — That’s  him,  with  one  eye,  that’s  needle. — 
Come  now,  Mr,  Needle,  I  don’t  like  walking  out 
here,  I  wants  to  walk  under  the  yawning . — Well, 
my  dear,  but  will  that  be  quite  correct  our  mixing 
with  superfine?  To  be  sure  it  will,  an’t  you  tailor 
and  habit  maker  to  the  king’s  own  tallow  chandler? 
Yes,  my  love.— And  wasn’t  you  in  the  Bunhill 
Fields  volunteers,  all  the  last  peace? — So  I  vas  my 
dear ;  ah  !  there’s  general  Gormand,  I’ll  bow  him,  be 
knows  me  very  well. — Now  Needle  mind  your  eye. 
(bows)  He  didn’t  see  me  my  love. — No  how  could 
he,  you  din’t  bow  till  he  was  two  yards  past  you. — 
How  do.  .How  do,  eh.  .A-h  !  any  thing  to  do. — No, 
no,  nothing  to  do,  no  nothing  at  all. — Ah  !  any  per¬ 
son  outside,  eh  ?  No.  no,  no  person  outside,  no  per- 


46 


YATES'*  REMINISCENCES. 


son  at  all. — Curst  stupid. — Yes,  very — curst  stupid. 
Good  night. — Good  night.  My  love,  give  me  my 
thick  shoes,  my  thin  ones  are  wet,  it’s  a  very  damp 
night.  Why,  it  rains. — Rains. —  Yes,  I  have  my  ap¬ 
prehensions. — And  I  have  my  umbrella. 

All  in  this  show,  &, c. 

Hatk,  how  it  rains  !  a  hackney-coach  a  treasure  is; 

For  satin  shoes  and  silk  stockings — here’s  a  night! 
Pit,  pat — slip,  slop, — this  a  night  for  pleasure  is, 

I  wish  that  I  was  not  now  so  far  from  home. 
Whizzing  crouds  and  dizzy  lamps — nothing  now 
but  dreariness  ; 

Some  a  drinking,  others  sinking,  with  nothing  else 
but  weariness. 

Come  let  us  take  a  box,  and  call  for  what  will  throw 
a  light  on  it. 

And  as  ’tis  so,  before  we  go,  why  let  us  make  a 
night  of  it. 

Here’s  a  night!  this  is  pleasure!  How  shall  w^ 
get  home,  my  dear? — Why,  as  we  came,  I  suppose? 
by  water.  Now  I  propose  that  we  stay  late,  and  go 
home  by  one  of  the  Kennington  stages. — Bless  me, 
how  it  does  rain  and  blow,  father!  it  has  quite  blown 
out  the  I  in  Wellington. — Well,  that’s  a  circumstance 
I  did  not  know  before  ;  T  was  not  aware  that  the  duke 
had  lost  an  eye.  (bell)  There’s  the  bell  for  the  fire¬ 
works !  why,  the  people  rush  like  a  shower  of  rain. 
Like  a  shower  of  rain  ;  why  ’tis  a  shower  of  rain. — 
Well,  my  dear,  we  must  go  with  the  stream. — There’s 
no  other  way  of  going  such  a  night  as  this.  There, 
do  you  see  that  dark  place  ?  Yes,  what  is  it  ? — That’s 
the  fire-works. — I  can’t  see  nothing.  Now  for  a 
rocket  (whush)  Come,  that’s  not  so  bad;  ’twas  al¬ 
most  as  high  as  the  trees.  Now  for  a  Roman-candle. 
— Papa,  why  do  they  call  ’em  Roman-candles?  Why, 
my  dear,  because— because,  there’s  no  Greece  in  ’em. 
Mv  love,  will  you  ask  that  Naval  Marine  gentleman, 
to  move  on  one  side,  I  can’t  see  at  all.  It’s  no  use 
asking  hiita  my  love ;  don’t  you  see  his  wooden  leg 


YATES1  REMINISCENCES. 


4  7 


has  sunk  up  to  the  calf  in  the  wet  gravel.— Come, 
let’s  sit  down  and  enjoy  ourselves;  Waiter!  do  you 
call  this  a  slice  of  ham?  why,  I  can  see  every  indi¬ 
vidual  lamp  in  the  gardens  through  it.  Now  to  finish 
the  evening  with  a  song,  (sings  God  save  the  King.) 
Pa,  how  it  comes  down  at  ‘  rains  over  us.’ 

Ail  in  this  show,  Sic. 

In  a  few  short  years,  short  indeed  to  the  hey-day 
of  youth,  I  was  engaged  to  perforin  my  budget  at  the 
Liverpool  Theatre,  for  I  had  frequently  been  At 
Home  on  various  occasions  in  the  Country,  as  it  is  the 
custom  of  London  Performers  to  go  into  the  Coun¬ 
try  occasionally  as  stars;  Mr.  Baitley  is  the  only 
gentleman  who  stars  it  in  London. 

Arriving  at  Liverpool,  I  found  by  one  of  these 
strange  casualties,  that  the  real  proprietor  of  the 
Mail  Coach  Adventures  had  just  arrived  piping  hot 
from  America,  and  we  were  both  advertised  to  play 
alone  in  the  same  Theatre,  on  the  same  night ;  of 
course  I  gave  up  my  seat  in  the  “Mail,”  to  the 
“Great  Original:”  for  some  time  we  conjointly  or 
singly,  got  good  houses  on  alternate  evenings;  ’till 
one  day,  we  thought  it  would  not  be  unpleasing  to  the 
good  people  of  Liverpool,  certainly  not  to  ourselves, 
if  we  gave  them  a  specimen  of  our  tragedy.  My 
friend  had  a  good  opinion  of  his  tragic  powers,  and  I 
had  an  equally  good  one  of  mine.  Indeed  most 
Comedians  have  had  the  same  idea;  Munden  thinks 
himself  a  fine  Macbeth,  wasted  ;  and  the  comical 
Liston  sits  himself  down  as  an  ill  used  Qctavian  ; 
Othello  was  announced,  my  friend,  the  “gentleman 
in  Black,”  myself  the  cunning  Iago  ;  having  dressed 
myself  on  the  night  of  performance,  I  went  to  the 
dressing  room  of  my  friend,  “what,  sa>  1,  not 
dress’d  yet,  do  you  know  the  first  hell  has  rung?”— 
“  Has  it  ?”— J  (ound  him  before  a  large  glass,  with  a 
book  of  the  tragedy  on  one  side  of  him,  learning  the 
jealousy  by  heart ;  and  on  the  other  a  bottle  of  match¬ 
less,  with  which  he  was  making  the  darkness  visible 
on  his  countenance,  4  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  cursed 


YATES’  reminiscences. 


4$ 

climbing  boy  as  I  am  making  myself,  loo£  very  like 
the  blac&  man  who  sweeps  the  crossings  at  the  coiner 
of  Fleet  Market ;  /  look  like  a  genuine  sample  of 
Day  and  Martin,  without  the  polish.  /  say  Fred.  / 
wish  you  would  do  it  for  me.”  u  I  took  his  face  in 
hand,  and  advocated  the  cause  of  the  blacks  ;  the 
curtain  rang  up,  and  we  got  on  capitally  until  we 
carne  to  the  third  act,  when  as  we  got  most  serious, 
the  audienee  thought  we  were  most  in  joke,  and  the 
dialogue  proceeded  something  in  this  way  : 

Yates.--*- My  Noble  Lord.  Mathews.— What  does 
say  /ago?  F.— Did  Cassio,  when  you  wooed  my 
lady,  know  of  your  love?  M. — He  did,  (they  don’t 
la&e  it)  from  first  to  last  ;  why  do  you  as k?  there’s  a 
bit  of  orange  peel.)  F«-|-But  for  the  satisfaction  of 
my  thought.  M.—W7 by  of  thy  thought,  /ago?  (we 
are  beginning  to  move  ’em.)  F.— /did  not  thin&  he 

had  been  acquanted  with  her.  (there’s  several 
going  out  of  the  Pit.)  M.-~ (they  are  certainly 
laughing.)  O!  yes,  and  went  between  us  very  oft. 
F.---/n deed  !  M.— Indeed  !  discernest  thou  ought  in 
that,  (its  more  than  they  do,)  is  he  not  honest  ?  F.— 
Honest,  my  lord  ?  M.~ -Honest,  ay  !  honest?  (they’re 
laughing  infernally)  F— My  lord,  for  aught  I  know. 
M.~ -What  dost  thou  thinA:?  (I  can’t  stand  this,  I 
must  be  off.)  F.— Tiling,  my  lord,  (that  I  must  fol¬ 
low  ;)  we  have  neither  of  us  had  any  thing  to  do  w  ith 
Tragedy  since. 

While  I  was  at  Lwerpool,  I  dined  with  a  gentle¬ 
man,  who  vvas  particular  in  his  beef,  he  wished  much 
to  hear  of  our  Christmas  show  of  cattle  ;  as  I  was  the 
only  one  present  who  had  witnessed  such  a  sight,  I 
described  it  to  them  as  well  as  I  could  in  the  follow¬ 
ing  manner  : 

SMITHFIELD  CATTLE  SHOW. 

Off,  I’m  off  for  the  Goswell-street  cattle  show, 
Being  determined  to  be  in  good  time; 


YATES*  REMINISCENCES.  49 

If  you  are  coming  pray  don’t  stand  to  prattle  now, 
For  I’m  told  that  the  beasts  are  all  prime. 

Yout  togs  now  on,  pull  Cox, 

To  see  the  fat  bullocks. 

There’s  lots  of  pushing  and  driving  T  /mow  ; 

If  we  are  first  there,  I  trust  that  we  must  there 

Stand  a  good  chance  for  to  get  the  first  row. 

I  say,  vich  is  it.  Vhy  that  ere  von  by  the  ebay 
carts.  Littel  boys,  ta/ce  your  eyes  away  from  the 
hinges,  you  can’t  see  no  fat  through  them  ’ere  crac/cs. 
Let  the  poor  boys  alone,  it  can’t  be  any  injury  to  the 
proprietors.  Vhy  you  see  sir,  we  are  ordered  not  to 
let  no  one  see  vot  has  not  paid.  Room,  room,  for 
Lord  Stuffington.  Well!  good  shew,  eh?  good  shew 
this  year.  Yes  my  lord,  tolerable.  I  say,  blow  me 
but  he’s  a  whopper.  Bill,  open  the  big  gate  for  his 
lordship.  Sure  he  needn’t  leave  his  own  fireside  to 
see  a  prize  ox,  No,  to  look  at  him,  I  should  thinfc 
he  fcnowed  what  oil  ca&es  vas.  Ma&e  way  for  the 
Duchess  of  Dumplingfed.  Vich  is  she.  Why  she 
on  the  galloway.  Vot  she  with  the  habit.  No,  she 
with  the  hastma.  Room  there,  let  that  gentleman 
pass.  Veil  I’m  blowed  if  he  an’t  a  fat  ’un — who  is 
lie  ?  He’s  steward  to  Lord  Stuffington,  and  he’s  got 
t  wo  porters  here  as  is  the  wtry  moral  of  him. 

So  I’m  off,  &c. 

Come,  brush  on,  while  we’ve  strength  to  be  moving 
here, 

I  wish  for  to  make  the  best  use  of  the  day ; 

I  find  that  the  crowd  is  hourly  improving  here, 

If  longer  we  stop,  why  we  shan’t  get  away. 

Let’s  hear  how  they  bar&  it  now 
In  the  cow  market  now. 

Pm  all  of  a  broil  like  a  steak  on  the  fire, 

And  as  I  am  toasting,  I  may  as  well  roast  in 

The  flames  of  what  some  call  a  foolish  desire. 

How  excessively  crowded,  how  intensely  hot,  Mr. 
Keeper,  have  you  any  ventilators.  No  sir,  we  have 
E 


50 


yates;  reminiscences. 


several  heifers.  Pray  what  are  those?  Sheep  sir. 
Sheep!  poor  things.  I  say  Bill,  he  calls  these  sheep 
poor  tilings.  Very  oppressive  ;  I  say  sir,  as  you  have 
just  come  in,  how’s -the  weather  ?  Very  I  at  sir,  very 
fat.  There’s  an  answer  now.  Yes  sir,  that’s  a  re- 
posi-to-ry  answer.  What  a  strange  smell,  how  suf¬ 
focating.  Pray  who  is  that  gentleman?  Lavender 
sir.  Pm  srtre  they  want  lavender  here,  oh!  Look 
here,  here’s  nafur ,  what  an  ogg.  Prodigious!  arn’t 
it.,  James,  my  child,  take  hold  of  my  hand-,  and 
we’l!  walk  round  it.  No,  no,  you  don’t  recollect  the 
child  has  got  to  walk  home.  So  Pm  off, 

Such  a  show  of  fat  oxen  was  never  seen, 

The  demand  tor  oil  cakes  must  be  great ; 

And  the  proprietors  all  look  as  they  had  been 
Grazing  along  with  their  cattle  of  late. 

Now’s  the  time-,  push  and  drive 
To  see, ’em  all  alive  ! 

Those  who  have  money  should  pull  it  out  now, 

If  you  mean  to  buy  now,  don’t  you  be  shy  now; 

In  London,  of  Cattle  there’s  not  such  a  show. 

My  good  man,  will  you  just  stand  on  one  side  ? 
I’m  no  good  man,  I’m  a  butc-her.  Well  I  declare  I 

never  would -  there  it  is  again— I  never  would 

have  come  if  I  had  thought  it  had  been  like  this  ;  I 
have  had  nothing  but  ox  tails  whisking  round  my 
eyes  this  half  hour,  it  is  like  walking  blindfold  through 
a  belfry.  Take  care  of  yom  pockets.  I  arn’t  got 
no  money.  I  say  sir,  I  ’a  bin  a  vatehing  you  this 
half  hour,  you  have  been  twisting  that  pig’s  tail 
about  till  it  nearly  amounts  to  tor-tur .  I  say,  that’s 
a  fine  beast;  what  do  they  call  him?  you  have  got 
the  catalogue.  Oh  here  it  is,  The  Rev.  Alfred  Clay¬ 
ton,  Pooh  !  nonsense.  I  say  it  is,  the  Rev.  Alfred 
Clayton,  short  in  the  body,  long  in  the  hindlegs, 
poodle  head,  and  thick  in  the  quarters.  Well,  so  it 
is  I  declare*,  how  very  odd.  Take  care  of  that  ox,  he 
is  just  going  to  kick.  No  he  isn’t  sir,  he  is  merely 


YATeS*  REMINISCENCES. 


51 


going  to  rest  his  other  leg.  He’s  a  fine  creature,  how 
pacific  ;  pray  Mr.  Shewman  is  he  always  so.  No  sir, 
he  sometimes  lies  down.  So  Pm  off,  &.C. 


FART  II. 

A  short  time  after  mv  engagement  at  Covent  Gar¬ 
den,  1  was  introduced  to  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Prosper 
Sanguine;  he  was  happy  in  disappointment,  laughed 
at  the  hardness  of  the  times,  and  gloried  in  what 
would  follow  ;  and  who  to  use  his  own  expression, 
never  gave  up.  ‘Funds  down  at  60,  so  much  the 
better,  buy  in. — I  se  it  all,  never  give  up — get  up  like 
a  skyrocket  to  90—1  see  it  ail— 30  per  cent  the  bet¬ 
ter.’  I  was  introduced  to  him  before  dinner:  Mr. 
Sanguine,  Mr.  Yates;  Mr.  Yates,  Mr.  Sanguine,  (at 
this  time  it  was  thought  the  Gas  company  would 
never  answer)  ‘  Pho,  not  answer — must  answer — I 
see  it  all — buy  shares — shop  blown  out,  what  then? 
house /  blown  down,  so  much  the  better,  make  room 
for  the  new  streets  and  light  it  afterwards.  A  Scotch 
gentleman  remarked,  ‘  Sir,  you  see  Macpdannzation 
will  never  do  for  a  great  city  like  London  ;  it  is.  too 
dry  in  the  Summer,  and  too  wet  in  the  winter.’  ‘Pho, 
nonsense,  must  answer — dry  in  the  summer,  so  much 
the  better — Lundy  foot  for  nothing — never  give  up — 
wet  in'  winter,  what  then  ?  navigable  streets,  Mac¬ 
adamize  every  thing  from  Gros.  Square  to  your  hack 
parlour:  I  went  to  the  plav  the  other  night,  30  in  the 
pit,  none  in  the  boxes,  so  much  the  better,  more  to 
come — dare  say  they  were  all  in  the  gallery— never 
give  up.’  Thus  did  he  tower  above  misfortune  and 
mishap,  for  his  life  seemed  to  be  insured  in  the 
Hope. 

About  this  time  I  was  a  thin  single  gentleman,  and 
occupied  apartments  close  to  the  theatre,  where  I 
could  step  and  do  Moses  in  the  School  for  Scandal, 
and  hack  again  to  tea  :  an  ac  quaintance  of  my  house¬ 
keeper’s  frequently  called  to  see  her ;  a  perfoa 


52 


Yates’  reminiscfnces. 


Snake  in  petticoats ;  she  said  she  had  just  called  in 
to  see  her,  nothing  more;  a  n  ost  singular  character, 
and  nearly  allied  to  a  very  celebrated  personage. 
Mrs.  Paulina  Pry  was  quite  a  character ;  she  just 
called  in  upon  her  friends,  nothing  more — would  de~ 
licately  surmise  a  misfortune  with  her  eyes,  or  dip¬ 
ping  into  domestic  difficulties  with  her  chin:  I  have 
seen  her  scatter  ruin  round  her  acquaintance  with 
‘nods  ant^  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles;*  her  eyee 
would  be  every  where  at  once,  in  the  tea-caddies,  the 
areas,  the  gravy  spoons  of  her  acquaintances ;  most 
particularly  anxious  after  any  absentees  ;  she  actually 
seemed  to  possess  the  power  of  shooting  out  her  eyes 
after  an  article,  like  a  snail’s  horn  ;  her  conversation 
I  will  endeavour  to  etch ,  she  never  did  engrave  it  her¬ 
self:  ‘  I  called  on  the  Jones’s — the  bronze  inkstand 
is  gone,  eh  ! — up  stairs,  I  suppose,  eh !  they  have 
only  five  of  these  chairs,  eh !  the  parlour  chairs,  eh  ! 
five  !  they  had  eight,  and  two  elbows,  eh !— -Just 
called  in  at  Mrs.  Lofty’s  she  was  out,  eh  1  met  her  af¬ 
terwards  with  a  small  basket  reticule  on  her  arm, 
couldn’t  see  in  it,  eh! — called  at  dinner  afterwards; 
tea-spoons  with  the  pie,  eh  !  she  had  her  deserts  once 
— just  popt  in  at  Mrs.  Baker’s;  what  a  sweet  guard 
ring  you  have  on,  my  love;  you  had  another  eh! 
well,  I  don’t  ask,  times  are  hard,  times  are  hard,  eh  l 
my  dear  love,  what’s  gone  with  your  ebony  tea- 
caddy,  eh  ?  taken  up  stairs  I  suppose,  eh  ?  only  you 
know  it  always  used  to  stand  under  the  cheffonier. — * 
I  wonder  what  takes  Mrs.  Brown  so  often  to  the 
Obelisk,  eh  ?  her  husband’s  out  of  town  they  say,  eh  ? 
may  people  come  out  by  the  act  ?’  But  as  I  once 
met  her  at  a  pawnbroker’s  window,  and  heard  her 
mutter  her  thoughts,  I  put  them  into  a  lyrical  shape^ 
nearly  thus: 

PAWNBROKER’S  SHOP. 

The  three  golden  balls  are  above  me, 

I  see  the  green  door  up  the  court ; 

Take  these  six  spoons,  and  quickly  shove  me 
Up  the  spout,  for  I’m  rather  short : 


yates’  reminiscences.  53 

&omego  in  and  I’ll  wait  at  the  window, 

I  don’t  wish  to  wait  in  the  shop  ; 

’Till  you  brine  out  the  money,  Miss  Blindo, 

’Tis  here  I  would  much  rather  stop. 

My  neighbours  may  talk,  if  they  eye  me  ; 

Let  ’em  prate  then  as  much  as  they  please ; 

They  cannot  unless  they  are  by  me, 

For  most  folks  come  in  at  the  squeeze* 

Miss  Cumm  n*  has  left  off  her  earings, 

Miss  Pop4  m’s  fine  bracelets  are  gone, 

Mrs.  Traces  has  laid  by  her  laces, 

And  these  ladies  look  rather  forlorn. 

So  here  is  Sophia’s  best  coral, 

But  I  long  have  thought  she  was  poor  ; 

It’s  no  use  with  fortune  to  qucuy^l, 

While  your  uncle  will  open  his  door. 

Mrs.  White’s  emblem  of  wedding, 

Is  here  in  the  window  secure  ; 

But  I’d  part  with  my  bed  and  my  bedding, 
Before  I’d  pawn  that  ring,  I  am  sure. 

Oh,  Ellinor  Rogers  your  caddy 
Is  ticketed  here,  sure  enough  ; 

Since  your  pledges  your  uncle  has  had,  he 
Has  kept  you  in  plenty  of  snuff. 

And  that  cypher  C.  B.  I  well  know  it, 

Which  on  that  gold  seal  I  espy, 

How  aggravating  to  show  it 

Just  under  the  poor  owner’s  eye. 

This  window,  my  friends  are  all  in  it — 

Here  stands  the  4  Whol#  Duty  of  Man 

For  some  men  before  they  begin  it, 

Will  shrink  to  this  shop  if  they  can. 

The  prices,  you  see  they  do  mark  on 
Each  article  here  that  they  place, 

A  warranted  gun  made  by  Manton — 

John  Bunyan — and  three  yards  of  lace. 

I  can  see  here  that  people  now  labours 
To  put  all  their  care  on  the  shelf ; 


54 


yates’  reminiscences. 


And  I’ve  found  out  that  most  of  my  neighbo^ 

Are  no  better  off  than  myself, 

One  relation,  when  you  are  sunk — ill, 

Tho’  on  them  you  can’t  always  rely, 

I  find  a  good  friend  in  my  Uncle, 

On  Saturday  night  to  apply. 

Previous  to  my  leaving  town,  to  fulfil  my  engage* 
ments  in  the  country,!  dined  with  a  gentleman  who  was 
tormented  with  a  bad  cook:  on  setting  down  to  din¬ 
ner,  every  thing  was  spoilt ;  the  first  act  was  bad  the 
second  worse,  and  the  third  spoilt  the  entertainment ; 
the  fish  was  cold,  the  meat  raw,  the  vegetables  not 
done,  and  the  potatoes,  as  the  footman  said,  had  met 
with  an  accident  — here  I  met  Mr.  M‘Fin  a  gentle¬ 
man  who  had  an  utter  dislike  to  fish  ;  *  What’s  fish  r* 
a  parcel  of  trashtfiot  fit  to  swim, — Roach,  what  is  it  ? 
a  parcel  of  jsmmming  bones. — Soles,  pho  !  under** 
leathers  fried^detest  Brill  —  workhouse  turbot — Sal* 
mon,  pho!  only  the  middle  cut  good,  and  you  can’t 
make  head  nor  tail  of  that.’ 

As  I  had  never  had  a  thoro’  taste  of  a  strolling  life, 
I  attached  myself  to  a  respectable  company  of  co*> 
medians,  and  with  them  performed  at  most  of  the  prin* 
cipal  towns  in  Devonshire.  The  company  were  all  as 
careless  as  myself,  and  merry  were  the  days  we  pass* 
ed:  I  recollect  once,  we  played  Macbeth  in  two  acts, 
and  with  only  one  witch.  We  had  in  the  company  a 
respectable  old  actor,  who  had  been  on  the  stage 
nearly  half  a  century, yet  so  singular  were  his  ideas, 
that  he  always  fancied  his  appearance  much  too  ju¬ 
venile  for  every  part  he  happened  to  be  cast  in  ;  one 
evening  I  went  into  his  dressing  room,  and  found  him 
busily  employed  in  preparing  for  King  Henry,  for 
which  part,  as  usual,  he  thought  his  appearance  much 
too  juvenile  ;  I  found  him  making  wrinkles  round 
his  already  wrinkled  face; — 4  eh  !  can’t  please  myself, 
eh !  much  too  young.’ — at  last  he  threw  down  his 
paint,  saying, 4 ’fore  gad,  I’ll  not  make  an  old  man  of 
him,  I’ll  play  him  as  a  young  man.J 


YATES?  REMINISCENCES. 


55 


At  the  Dartmouth  theatre,  the  hack  of  the  stage 
was  enclosed  by  a  couple  of  folding  doors,  for  when 
not  used  as  a  theatre,  it  was  converted  into  a  ware" 
house  for  goods.  I  remember  the  first  time  I  played, 
we  had  a  very  thin  audience,  very  thin  indeed,  in  fact, 
for  why  should  I  disguise  it  before  friends,  we  had 
but  one  pound  seventeen  shillings  and  three  pence 
in  the  warehouse,  pit,  boxes,  and  gallery,  and  three¬ 
pence  beams.  The  play  was  Wild  Oats,  I  played 
Rover,  and  very  well  I  did  it  for  the  money.  We 
none  of  us  knew  our  parts,  but  said  what  came  first, 
from  Speed  the  Plough,  the  Humorous  Lieutenant, 
or  Othello;  we  got  on  very  well  till  the  end  of  the 
fourth  act,  when  I  was  on  the  stage  as  Rover,  and 
there  was  John  Dory  (Sir  George  Thunder  ought  to 
enter ;)  we  stood  staring  at  each  other ;  the  audience 
four  in  the  front,  began  to  murmur ;  c.all  Sir  George 
'Thunder,  said  I  to  the  prompter — 4  Sit -George  Thun¬ 
der!’  but  no,  Sir  George  couldn’t  be  found;  4 Mr. 
Weston,  Mr.  Weston!’ — I  rushed  off  the  stage  like 
lightning  in  search  of  Thunder .  The  back  of  the 
<age  opened  on  to  the  pier,  and  it  was  no  uncommon 
thing  for  an  actor  to  take  a  turn  there  on  a  fine  even- 
betweeu  the  acts — and  there  I  discovered  Sir 
wge  Thunder,  sitting  down  in  his  admiral’s  dress, 
line^  hat  and  sword  complete  with  a  large  rod  and 
are|>  ^Hng  and  struggling  with  a  huge  horse-mack* 

10  town>  1  found  on  my  table  a  card 

m  '<ul'ller,  and  the  next  morning  he  called 
l  am  Zl  ‘"nredy,  Friday,  it  is  all  one, -here 
c  mi  ^  -  e  ,havn  t  it  yet.’  ‘Found  what?’ 

Jt  1  t«d7beJe"  t0  ,he  V-vVe-been  to  St.  Cloud, 
but  can  t  find  a  desert  island-tried  to  be  cast  away, 

ihrew  FrenuCh  bo0dt  w«'dd"’t  go  to  pieces-I 

t«  ?r  'rt0the  Seine’  whe"  1  was Paris, 
sink  I  °Up  e  °f  !U11S  0,1  my  arrn  5  but  as  I  could’nt 
coac’hmln  ’  CUrse,i  F'ench  hackney 

Dfl  Ville’s  tr.  We  ’  saK  VV|11  you  go  with  me  to 
vs  v tile s  to  see  some  casts?’  ‘Do  you  think  he 


56~ 


YATES'*  REMINISCENCES. 


has  got  a  cast  away  V  ‘  No,  said  I,  I  do  not  think  he 
has.’  4 1  shan’t  go,  i  hate  the  French,  all  of  ’em.’ — 
4  But  he  is  not  a  Frenchman.’  4  Yes  he  is.’  ‘No,  I 
assure  you  he  is  not.’  4  Weil,  it’s  ail  the  same,  he  is 
of  French  extraction  ;  I’ve  noticed  ’em  all,  theie’s 
De  la  Cour,  Delatanville,  Destampes,  Decamp,  all 
begin  with  a  D.’  6  So  they  do,’  said  I.  4  Yes,  I  know 
it  all,  every  thing’s  French  that  begins  with  D.’ — 
1  Then  how  do  you  get  over  Dumpling,’  said  Mr. 
Fact. 

We  strolled  into  the  public  Office,  Bow-street, 
when  a  case  came  on,  vvheie  a  fireman  claimed  the 
reward  for  being  first  at  a  chimney  taking  fire  ;  the 
proprietor  of  the  house  had  brought  a  sweep,  a  senti¬ 
mental  Yorick  of  the  soot-bag  who  gave  his  evidence 
thus:  4  She  take  fire  your  honor — bless  you,  she 
wouldn’t  do  such  a  thing,  I  liked  her  ever  since  I  w  ent 
into  the  profession,  your  honour  she  made  me  fond 
of  the  business — she  take  fire!  oh!  no — she’s  a 
strait  as  an  arrow — no  chimbly  in  Lunnon  has  suchr 
look  out  as  she  has — not  a  brick  in  her  but  knoy* 
my  foot,  your  honor — she  has  such  winning  ways — 
she  made  me  fond  of  the  business — she  take  fire — sj^ 

couldn’t  do  it,  or  Pd  never  trust  a  chimbly  more _ 

she  is  fined,  the  next  time  I  look  out  I  should  ^ 

ve*p,veep.  election,  I 

Having  shortly  afterwards  visited  an  scene  of 

shall  endeavour  to  pourtray  that  shall  gain 

whim,  humour,  and  confusion,  and  | 

rc  .  i  .nvseif  a  caiicUuaus 

your  suffrages,  when  1  propose  *Jv 

P  HUMOURS  OF  AN  FLECTION. 

Broken  heads  a^e  l^e  *U!1 

Pushing,  tearing,  driving  ; 

Thousands  into  danger  run* 

For  candidates  all  striving. 

Come  take  that  favour  from  your  hat.; 

Cries  one  upon  inspection, 
ff  your  for  them,  why  I’m  for  that; 

All’s  fair  at  an  Election'. 


Dates’  reminiscences.  67 

Huzza!  every  body  for  ever — -Pat- riot  ism  for  ever. 
I  say,  which  are  the  Pat-rioters.  Here  we  are  your 
honor,  and  I  hope  you’ll  allow  us  bludgeons,  that  we 
may  appear  dacent.  Now,  my  boys,  keep  all  togeth¬ 
er,  and  go  in  different  compartments  to  the  Poll. 
That’s  O’Flim,  he  disarranges  the  processions — Mr. 
Stone,  pray  what  is  your  colour?  Blue,  sir.  Ah! 
stone  blue,  I  suppose.  Pray,  sir,  what’s  your  colour  ? 
Why,  sir,  I  have  not  made-up  my  mmd  yet,  but  as  far 
as  my  nose  goes,  it  inclines  to  purple.  I  say,  where’s 
your  cockade — in  my  hat.  I  don’t  see  it.  No,  it’s 
inside,  Pm  not  going  to  have  my  ribbons  torn  to  rib + 
bons .  You  can’t  go  by  here.  Vy  not.  Because  I’m 
a  ^officer.  Then  where’s  your  ftautority?  Here. 
Yell,  you’ve  no-occasion  to  shove  it  in  my  hye.  (To 
a  drunken  man,)  Sir,  sir,  get  up  ;  do  exert  y ourself x 
how  long‘have  you  been  here  ?  For  Ever  !  Come, 
sir,  rouse  yourself:  how  long  do  you  mean  to  stop 
here  ?  For  Ev-e-r.  He’s  quite  overtaken.  Yes,  he’3 
cotcht  it.  Who  do  you  vote  for,  sir  ?  For  Ever. 
That’s  Doldrum,  the  committee  man.  How  do  sir  ? 
is  the  committee  sitting.  Yes,  they  are  sitting  at  the 
Rose  and  Compasses;  but  they  had’nt  chairs  enough, 
so  I  walked  out.  That’s  as  independent  a  u?oter  as 
any  here.  Him  as  is  bawling  Combe  and  Delafield 
for  ever.  No,  no,  him  as  has  a  bunch  of  ingyons  in 
his  hand,  next  to  the  u>oter  in  toelweteens.  Push  on 
— Pm  for  liberty  of  opinion.  Well,  sir,  and  Pm  for* 
liberty  of  opinion  too.  Well,  sir,  and  what’s  your 
opinion  ?  Why,  sir,  my  opinion  is  that  my  pocket  fs 
picked.  O,  broken  heads,  ho. 

Now’s  the  time  and  now’s  the  hour* 

To  hear  ’em  all  harranguing; 

If  you  have  a  plumper  got, 

Come  push  your  way  bang  in. 

Come  poll  away  my  bought  up  votes^ 

I  do  not  fear  detection ; 

Who  wouldn’t  keep  in  pay  turn  coatj£ 

Itlst  losing  their  election. 


5$  VATES*  reminiscences* 

Well  I  must  say,  a  set  of  honest  people  gathered 
together  is  a  gratifying  sight.  I  say  iny  honest  man, 
will  you  take  care  of  my  horse  and  gig,  while  I  go 
Up  to  vote.  Yes  sartainee  your  honour  ;  I  say  Jem, 
off  with  the  cushions.  A  plumper  for  Sir  D.'lherry 
JDiddle.  That  man  can’t  vote.  Why  not  ?  He  iias 
been  bribed,  they  have  given  him  something  for  him¬ 
self.  I’ll  do  as  much  for  you  when  I  come  down. — 
What  is  that  ragged  rascal  come  to  vote  ?  Yes,  sir, 
he  is  a  house-holder.  What  house?  The  House  of 
Correction,  I  should  think.  Silence  for  a  speech. — 

Gentlemen  electors,  I  have  the  honour  to - curse 

that  fellow  he  has  hit  me  in  the  eye  with  a  cabbage 
stump.  Here  take  the  book  in  your  hand.  I’m  sor¬ 
ry  to  say  as  how  T  can’t.  Why  not  ?  J’ve  only  got 
an  iron  hook.  Well,  what’s  to  be  done,  Counsellor 
Bother  what’s  to  be  done?  Oh,  he  can’t  vote.  Its 
cast  iron,  sir.  f£ell,  he  can  only  give  a  casting  vote, 
then.  Here’s  Mr.  Finnikin  he  is  quite  a  character, 
and  affects  to  hate  affectation,  now  mark  him.  So 
your  name  is  Finnikin,  sir.  Yes,  sir,  Finnikin  is  my 
name. — How  do  you  vote  Mr.  Finniftin  ?  As  you 
please,  sir,  I’m  not  at  all  particular.  Some  give  ’em 
plumpers,  sir.  fi ith  all  my  soul,  sir  ;  I’ll  give ’em 
all  plumpers,  sir.  Can’t  do  that,  sir,  you  must  split 
’em,  and  give  one  to  one,  and  one  to  another.  With 
all  my  soul  sir  ;  split  ’em  all,  as  most  agreeable  !  give 
*em  some  split  and  some  unsplil  as  you  please  sir. 

O  broken  heads  are  all  the  fun,  &g. 

Uproar  and  noise  are  the  true  joys 
Of  the  rabble  round  ye  ; 

They  roar  so  loud,  in  this  great  crowd, 

The  noise  does  soon  confound  ye. 

And  when  the  losing  parties  rise, 

To  as k  for  your  protection, 

Then  drown  their  voice  with  yells  and  crie$, 
For  that’s  a  pure  Election. 

There,  that’s  our  candidate.  Y^s,  he’s  a  nice  man 
of  foo  words,  but  they  are  to  the  pint.  lie’s  going 


YATE3’  REMINISCENCES.’ 


59 


speafc. — Gentlemen — I  beg  to  say,  that — T  mean — 

purity  of  election - Huzza,  huzza.  Be  quiet* 

Spooney,  will  you,  he  arn’t  come  to  the  liberty  of  the 
subject  yet  that’s  the  time.  Gentlemen — if  you  re¬ 
turn  me — no  taxes — beer  at  3d.  a  pot.  Huzza* 

huzza,  there’s  a  voice  to  represent  us. - Yes^ 

he’s  a  very  pretty  speaker,  arn’t  he? - Viet)  is 

the  man  as  is  addressing  us,  him  as  is  a  play¬ 
ing  with  two  yellow  gloves?  No  him  as  is  standing 
uprightly  and  independantly  with  his  two  hands  in 
his  breeches  pockets?  He’s  bowing,  arn’t  lie  ?  No, 
he  is  merely  stooping  to  avoid  the  cabbage  stumps. 
Vich  is  the  one  as  we  support  ;  him  in  powder  ?  No, 
him  as  stands  up  like  an  . Englishman,  in  a  white 
waiscoat,  with  a  hegg  a  trickling  down  his  bussum . 
All,  I’ll  give  him  my  vote  ;  he  looks  the  uncompro¬ 
mising  advocate  of  our  haggricultural  hinterest.  You 
can’t  vote  sir.  Why  not  sir  ?  I  have  been  waiting  all 
day.  Can’t  help  it  sir,  the  Poll’s  closed.  All !  that’s 
the  reason,  them  here  gemmen  beldw  have  thought 
proper  to  lay  mine  open. 

O  broken  heads,  etc, 

Those  who  are  behind  the  scenes,  sometimes  wit¬ 
ness  some  droll  anecdotes  ;  and  as  you  all  know,  I 
occasionally  have  been  behind  the  scenes  myself,  I 
will  relate  an  anecdote  that  occurred  at  one  of  our 
I  Winter  Theatres.  The  play  advertised,  was  Richard  ; 
1  the  Manager  was  in  extacy  !  ‘  What  a  glorious  rush 
there’ll  be  to  my  establishment  to-night — a  fine  house 
I  shall  have — fourteen  little  boys  at  the  gallery  doors 
already— about  half-past  four,  a  messenger  arrived 
with  a  letter— ‘eh  !  what’s  this— a  letter— immediate 
— let  me  see— beautiful  house  I  shall  have— eh ! 
what’s  here— ill— can’t  act  for  a  few  nights — eh ! 
run,  run,  all  the  establishment,  every  one  of  you, 
scour  the  country  round  ;  yet  stay,  I  have  it,  I’ll 
write  to  him.  Messenger  the  second,  was  despatched 
l  after  messenger  the  first ;  the  house  was  rapidly  fill* 


60 


YATES’  REMINISCENCES. 


ing ;  the  box  doors  thundered  with— fifty-first  com¬ 
panies.  At  last,  messenger  the  second  arrived,  in  a 
hackney  coach,  and  with  him  the  Great  Alternative. 
‘My  dear  sir,  pretty  situation  I’m  in,  here’s  a  fine 
house,  you  will  play  Richard,  won’t  you?’  ‘Pray, 
sir,  why  have  I  been  sent  for  in  this  manner— -lead 
the  way  to  my  dressing  room:  (Imitation  of  Mac- 
ready)  the  Manager  followed,  you  will  play  Richard 
to-night,  wont  you;  there’s  an  excellent  house?’  ‘I 
can’t.’  ‘You  could  if  you  would.’  ‘I  cannot,  I’ll 
play  Hamlet,  if  you  like;  ‘Angels  and  ministers  of 
grace!’  I  cannot  do  it,  why  did  you  send  for  me,  I 
have  not  got  a  dress.’  ‘  A  dress,  oh  !  run  all  the  es¬ 
tablishment,  send  ’em  all;  carpenters,  scene-shifters, 
down  to  the  fireman,  run  for  a  dress.’  ‘  A  messenger 
was  instantly  despatched  for  the  dress,  and  shortly 
made  his  appearance  with  a  bundle.’  ‘Ah!  here’s 
iny  crook-leg,  my  back— Now  is  the  winter,’— you 
are  making  me  too  crooked  behind;  ‘Made  glorious 
summer  by  this  son  of  York.’  ‘Beautiful!  bravo! 
you’ll  play  it  finely,  I  know  you  will.’  ‘Unless  that 
madman  leaves  the  room,  I  will  not  dress.’  ‘Well, 
my  dear  sir,  I’m  going,  but  you’ll  play  it  well,  you 
will  indeed.’  ‘  Shut  the  door,  is  he  gone  ;  now  let’s 
see — ah !  there’s  my  Garter— there’s  my  George— 
where’s  my— oh  !  merciful  powers,  where’s  my  wig! 
he  has  forgot  my  wig.’  The  Manager  rushed  in  and 
caught  him  round  the  neck,  saying,  ‘  play  the  first 
act  without  a  wig.’ 

I  cannot  resist  my  inclination  to  tell  you  a  little 
anecdote,  that  occurred  to  me,  on  a  visit  to  Paris, 
some  time  since.  A  friend  of  mine  requested  me  to 
bring  her  a  Queen’s  metal  tea-pot,  an  article  that 
could  not  be  procured,  on  that  side  the  water,  for 
‘  love  or  money.’  I  purchased  one,  however  ;  took 
my  place  in  the  Mail,  from  the  Angel  Inn,  and  ar¬ 
rived  at  Dover ;  old  Wright  said,  at  seeing  it — s*r, 
you  will  never  be  able  to  get  that  over,  it’s  prohibited  ; 
and,  old  Wright  was  seldom  ivrong ;  however,  a 
thought  struck  me,  which  I  determined  to  put  in 


YATES’  REMINISCENCES* 


61 


tice.  Upon  going  on  board  the  Packet,  a  French¬ 
man,  who  had  come  in  the  Mail  with  me  from  Lon¬ 
don,  and  who  was  taking  notes  every  five  minutes, 
stared  at  me  with  astonishment.  Arrived  at  Calais, 
I  debarked,  tea-pot  in  hand.  ‘Messieur,  it  is  impos¬ 
sible  you  to  land  that  tea-pot.’  4  Sir,  I’m  very  ill,  if 
you  take  this  from  me,  you  kill  me.’  4  Ah  !  Mes¬ 
sieur,  I  am  sorry,  but  I  must  take  your  tea  of  de  pot.’ 
4  Ah  !  Monsieur,  if  you  take  this  from  me,  you  take 
my  life,  it  is  my  antidote,  my  arsnic,  my  hellabore.’ 
4  Ah  !  pauvre  man,  I  dare  say  you  eat  it,  you  are  very 
much  ill-looking  man  ;  I  believe  you,  I  ’tink  you  live 
upon  de  poison,  I  pity  you  very  mosh  ;  you  shall  go, 
Monsieur,  and  drink  your  hell-of-a-bore;’  So  l  got 
clear  off  with  my  pot,  and  conveyed  it  safe  to  inM 
friend  at  Paris,  who,  I  make  no  doubt,  has  it  sale® 
this  day.  JH 

Whilst  in  Paris  I  was  much  amused  ;  about  a'H; 
afterwards,  on  going  into  a  Coffee-house,  by  a  Fr^H 
man,  who  the  moment  he  saw  me,  jumpt  up,^B 
catching  me  by  the  hand,  exclaimed,  4  Ah  !  mon  di<® 
how  glad  I  have  found  you,  mon  ami,  my  dear  frier® 
how  much  happy  I  am  to  see  you  again.’  ‘Indeed, 
sir,  you  do  me  honour,  but  I  don’t  recollect  you.’ — 
4  Ah  !  a  !  you  don’t  recollect,  ha  !  you  have  been  at 
Calais?’  4 Yes,  sir,  several  times.’  4 Ah!  ha!  se¬ 
veral  times;  oh!  mon  dieu,  what  Calumels  I  have 
suffered  upon  your  account;  you  shall  recollect  me; 
you  travel  with  tpa-pot,  eh  !  Monsieur.’  I  now  recol¬ 
lected  my  companion  in  the  Mail  and  in  the  Packet. 
4  When  I  travel  widg  you,  I  was  taking  note,  for 
make  a  book,  and  I  put  down  Englishman  so  very 
fond  of  tea,  he  always  travel  widg  tea-pot  in  his  hand, 
and  nobody  believe  me.’ 

A  few  days  after  this,  as  Fact  and  myself  were 
walking  down  the  Strand,  and  under  his  arm  a  rich 
silk  umbrella,  which  I  believe  he  purchased  for  Mr. 
Damper,  as  it  did  not  rain,  I  saw  come  out  of  the 
Chelsea  Stage,  which  had  just  stopped,  that  careful 
actor,  on  and  off  the  stage,  the  original  Crack,  the 


YATES*  REMINISCENCES. 


m 


only  Old  Dornton  ;  there  he  was,  with  his  old  cottcn 
umbrella,  which  I  again  beheld  for  the  hundredth 
time  :  the  moment  I  saw  him,  I  said  to  Fact,  ‘there 
he  is,  don’t  you  know  him?’  ‘Why,  bless  my  sdul, 
yes;  how  I  am  disappointed,  I  never  saw  him  out  of 
his  blue  and  silver.’  ‘  Yes,  (said  I)  but  he  has  quitted 
the  stage.’  ‘Yes,  I  know  it,  I  saw  him  get  out  and 
pay  the  fare. — How  do  you  do,  sir,  (said  Fact,  address¬ 
ing  the  veteran)  as  you  have*  quitted  the  stage,  a  * 
should  like  to  have  some  token,  some  small  article  as 
a  f  einernbrance  of  you,  as  a  kind  of  memento.’  The'" 
eccentric  comedian,  with  that  expressive  roll  of  the?f) 
eye,  which  is  so  peculiar  to  himself,  seeing  Fact’s  tim- 
ella,  immediately  struck  the  balance  between  si i k 
d  cotton,  and  replied,  ‘  Well,  sir,  suppose  we  ex- 
ge  umbrellas.’ 

ng  once  in  company  with  several  of  our  first- 
actors,  some  of  w  hom  spoke  in  degradation  of 
ktion,  I  ventured  to  say  that  every  actor  was  more 
less  an  imitator,  and  their  best  study  was  nature. — 
conversation  then  took  the  following  turn  : — A 


gentleman,  a  public  character,  spoke  to  me  as  fol¬ 


lows  :  ( Imitating  Young)  £I  say,  my  dear  fellow, 
think  your  imitation  of  me  is  good,  very  good  ;  amaz¬ 
ingly  like  at  times,  but  you  fall  into  an  error;  you  re¬ 
present  me  as  having  a  lisp,  now  I  have  no  lisp,  have 
I,  Charles?’  ( Imitating  Macready)  ‘  I  have  no  ob¬ 
jection  to  your  imitating  me,  1  think  it  is  tolerably 
good  ;  but  you  always  depict  me  as  a  mannerist ; 
now,  if  there  is  any  thing  l  despise  more  than  one 
thing  else,  it  is  mannerism — Oh  !  I  detest  it.’ 


THEATRICAL  FUND  DINNER. 

The  Theatiical  Fund,  is  the  Fund  for  me, 

Where  all  brother  Actors  are  meeting  ; 

I’m  at  home  with  my  friends,  when  I’m  there  d’ye  see, 
I  am  fond,  yes,  I’m  fond  of  good  eating. 

The  bottles  and  glasses  we  too  push  about, 

Good  Burgundy,  Champaigne,  and  Claiet; 


TATES*  REMINISCENCES. 

We  drain,  yes,  we  drain  the  bottles  clean  out, 

♦Till  the  spirit  mounts  up  in  our  garret. 

Theatrical  Fund— Theatrical  Fund  Dinner  ?  Turn 
to  the  right  ?  Waiter !  take  my  hat  and  coat,  and 
mind  and  keep  them  distinct  from  the  chairman.  I 
say,  sir,  do  you  know  who  that  was  ?  No,  sir.  Who 
is  that  ?  Claremont,  Well,  there  is  some  people  one 
longs  to  see — Who  is  that,  sir  P  ^  Jones.  That. 
Blanchard.  That?  Yates.  Who’s  that,  sir ?  That  s 
the  Anaconda,  sir.  Dear  me,  I  heard  it  was  drowned, 
Ah!  in  the  Serpentine  of  course;  nevermind,  sir. 
Claremont  can  play  it  next  season.  Why,  sir.  Be¬ 
cause  he  is  so  very  great  in  Snake .  Well,  I  have 
!ooked  into  two  hundred  and  two  plates,  and  can’t  sec 
my  name.  Have  you  looked  into  the  tureens  ?  No, 
sir,  I’d  advise  you  to  go  round  again.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,  but  I’m  a  country  gentleman,  from  the 
other  side  of  Harford ;  I’d  thank  you  to  point  me  out 
King  Lear.  I  will,  sir,  the  moment  he  enters  the 
room,  depend  upon  it.  Hang  those  clarionets,  they 
almost  stun  one.  Yes,  sir,  they  are  the  loudest  we 
could  get,  we’ve  tried  all  London  for’em.  Indeed  S 
pray  what  are  they  playing  now.  Sweet  Isabel!,  sir. 
Sweet  as-a-bell !  I’m  sure  it’s  enough  to  crack  one’s 

rs — Fray,  sir,  who  is  that  fat  happy  looking  man. 
ne,  sir.  Who  is  that  dismal,  melancholy  looking 
man.  He’s  a  composer,  sir,  his  name  is  Jolly.  It’s 
half  past  seven,  I  wish  the  chairman  would  come ;  I 
jread  peremptory  in  the  4  Herald' — “he  was  sure  to 
come— -I’m  very  hungry — I’ve  eat  all  my  bread.  Yes, 
sir,  and  the  greatest  part  of  mine.  The  chairman  ! 
chairman  !  strike  up.  Those  clarionets  again.  Pray^ 
sir,  is  this  what  you  call  a  Shakspeare  Jubilee.  No, 
sir,  it’s  a  mere  charity.  Oh !  and  I  suppose  those 
gentlemen  with  white  wands,  have  been  beating  the 
bounds.  Now  then — get  your  plates  ready— here’s 
the  soup — the  moment  the  chairman  is  down,  I’ll 
help  you — now  then,  is  he  down  ?  No,  not  yet  now 
S  *~now  he’s  down— here,  sir,  soup— take  some  of  those 


tates’  reminiscences. 


*4 

balls — I  beg  your  pardon,  stop  a  minute — I  will  thank 
you  to  let  me  get  my  elbows  in,  then  I  can  eat  to — 

At  the  real  Theatrical  Funu,  sir. 
The  song  it  goes  round,  and  round  d’ye  see, 

’Till  our  patrons,  o’erjoyed  with  pleasure  ; 

Drink  a  health  to  the  sons  of  true  harmony, 

In  a  full,  in  an  o’erflowing  measure. 

Mr.  Broadhurst  joins  Mr,  Pyne  in  a  glee, 

Mr.  Fawcett  in  black,  Duruset  in  blue ; 

That’s  Taylor  there,  if  clear  I  can  see, 

And  Sinclair  the  next  but  two. 

Quite  delighted  to  see  all  Shakspeare’s  children 
collected  together  in  black  silk  stockings  and  small 
clothes  ;  there’s  not  a  branch  of  the  Theatrical  Tree 
wanting.  Yes,  sir,  every  stick  of  an  Actor  is  here. 
Silence  !  for  a  toast  from  the  chair.  The  King,  with 
three;  hip,  hip,  hip,  huzza — Now  for  a  song— now 
you’ll  hear  Broadhurst  sing  Gdd  save  the  King  for  the 
first  time.  What!  did  he  never  sing  it  before.— 
Waiter!  ask  that  gentleman  to  take  wine  with  me. 
This,  sir?  No.  This?  No — Yes,  (bows,  etc.) — 
There’s  the  ladies,  bless’em,  up  in  the  gallery — ele¬ 
vated  above  us.  Never  mind,  we  shall  be  elevated 
enough  after  dinner.  There,  that’s  Dignum.  In¬ 
deed  !  what  is  he  doing.  Doing- — what  he  always  is 
doing — singing  i  Sally  in  our  Alley’  to  his  own  White 
Waistcoat.  Here  they  come  for  the  subscriptions. 
Well,  I  don’t  care,  I’m  ready.  Will  you  allow  me, 

sir,  to  put  you  down  for - Yes,  sir,  a  guinea.  What 

name,  sir  ?  D.,  plain  D.,  sir,  no  pomp.  Will  you 

allow  me - Yes,  sir,  I  have  no  objection  to  decorous 

hilarity.  What  name,  sir  ?  Give  me  the  pencil,  I’ll 
set  it  down  myself.  What  on  earth  has  he  written. 
I’ll  read  it  you  :  one  who  has  no  objection  to  go  to  a 
play  that  has  been  in  the  hands  of  the  Licenser,  but 
would  dij  in  defence  of  a  Jumper,  10s.  6 d.  Pray,  sir, 
is  this  what  you  call  a  full  meeting?  Yes,  sir,  I 
should  think  so,  if  you  had  seen  tnem  eat — 

At  the  real  Theatrical  Fund,  sir 


tATES*  REMINISCENCES* 


What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  be  seated  with  those, 

Who  applaud  you  for  eating  and  drinking  .; 

At  least  I  think  so,  and  every  one  knows, 

There  can  be  no  harm  in  thinking. 

When  the  tables  are  spread,  for  dinner,  you  see 
Good  humour  in  faces  abound  ; 

The  Actor  he  smiles,  and  he  shows  by  his  glee, 

That  his  heart  is  now  jocund. 

Silence  !  for  a  speech  from  Mr.  Fawcett — What 
is  that  Fawcett  ?  well,  I  always  thought  he  wore  a 
red  waistcoat.  A  red  waistcoat  ?  Yes,  I  saw  him 
once  play  Thornbury ,  and  he  made  a  great  piece 
o’work  about  his  waistcoat.  Silence!  for  Fawcett. 
Waiters!  leave  the  room.  Mr.  Chairman,  and  gen¬ 
tlemen!  Before  the  Ark,  plays  were  by  no  means 
common  ;  in  the  dark  ages  there  were  no  stage  lights ; 
in  Oliver  Cromwell’s  time  the  soldiers  were  actors  to 
a  man  ;  Serjeant  Higgins  was  great  in  Corporal  Foss  ; 
at  the  time  of  the  Reformation,  the  scene  began  to 
mend,  and  I  have  the  honour  to  announce  a  donation 
of  fifty  pounds  from  General  Smallshot,  and  to  pro¬ 
pose  the  health  of  the  proprietors.  Very  well,  bravo, 
Fawcett.  I  rise,  gents.,  to  propose  the  health  of  the 
stewards,  who  have  so  handsomely  provided  for  us  on 
this  occasion.  Hip,  hip,  hip,  hurra.  Sir,  the  next 
time  you  hip,  hip,  I’d  thank  you  to  do  it  with  an 
empty  glass ;  look  at  my  white  waistcoat,  all  over 
Port  Wine,  like  a  ship  at  a  christening.  Who*s  to  re¬ 
turn  thanks  for  the  stewards  ?  Dignum  must.  No  I 
can’t,  I’m  one  of  the  musical  brethren,  you  know. — 
Mathews  must.  Me,  no  I  can’t  do  it.  Yes  you  must. 
Well,  if  I  must,  gents.,  unused  as  I  am  to  public  speak¬ 
ing - Ha,  ha,  come,  tha’t  will  do,  Charles - you 

must  take  the  will  for  the  deed,  and  all  I^can  say  is, 
that  my  heart  is  as  full  as  my  glass,  both  bumpers, 
with  which  I’ll  do  myself  the  honour  of  drinking  the 
health  of  the  present  company.  Well,  if  I  had  been 
called  upon  to  return  thanks,  I  should  merely  say, 
Pm  glad  to  see  you  all,  God  bless  you.  (Imitatioifc 

F  2 


m 


YATES*  REMINISCENCES. 


vf  Blanchard,  Young,  Macready,  Braham,  awc/Mun- 
den.)  I  say  it  is  rather  late,  Lady  Pattypan’s  gone, 
she  always  goes  out  the  moment  Mathews  has  sung. 
What,  sir,  has  Mathews  sung  ?  Yes,  he  sung  when 
you  went  out  to  ma&e  interest  for  another  bottle  of 
Claret.  Psha!  Pve  missed  it  again,  came  on  pur¬ 
pose  to  hear  him  sing  ;  it  happened  the  same  to  me 
last  year,  I  never  am  to  hear  him  sing;  I  leave  Eng¬ 
land  to-morrow.  Well,  I  have  been  quite  delighted 
* — seen  Chapman  without  his  spectacles,  and  Clare¬ 
mont  vyithout  a  wig— I’ll  come  again  next  year. - - 

Waiter,  my  accoutrements,  No.  38 — a  hat,  a  great 
coat,  a  pair  of  Goloshes,  and  a  riding  whip.  Wh y, 
that  gentleman  ought  to  have  his  luggage  weighed. 

Such  are  my  etchings — such  my  reminiscences — * 
upon  telling  my  friends  that  /  intended  to  bring  them 
before  you,  Mr.  Damper  said  he  had  his  apprehen¬ 
sions  ;  Mrs.  Pry  said  she  had  heard  of  me,  nothing 
more,  eh? — the  Adelphi— -reduced  to  one  actor— 
Terry  and  Yates  have  sold  off  the  rest,  eh  ?  Mr.  Fact 
said,  what!  sold  off  the  actors, /never  heard  of  that 
before.  Mr.  Sanguine  was  sanguine  indeed,  he  en¬ 
couraged  me — to  be  sure,  my  hoy,  never  give  up— see 
it  all — one  on  the  stage,  many  before  it — see  it  all — 
must  answer — never  give  up.  Nor  will  /ever  give  up, 
while  encouraged  by  you  ;  lor  let  me  hope  you  will 
receive  in  good  nature,  what  was  etched  in  good  na^ 
tore — and,  rely  upon  it,  while  honoured  with  your 
approbation,  my  study  will  he  to  render  my  etchings, 
finished  engravings  in  your  good  opinion.— [Curtain 
falls.] 


FINIS: 


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